


Legend

by Beap



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Dubious Consent, M/M, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2718563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beap/pseuds/Beap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knew the legend of the Sorcerer and the Cock.  Because of the legend, many young men dreamed of claiming Camelot.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sorcerer and the Cock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For his great and evil burns, Nimeuh damned Uther in return and from the crib, she stole his son. Upon the child's cock, she placed a curse and only by magic would it reverse. The magic, is Merlin.

The royal supper table provided the most opportune times for Morgana. Conversing over dinner, she had ample reason to look directly into Uther's face. She saw a sickly paleness gradually consuming his once radiant skin. She noticed the hunch slowly slumping his once powerful posture. Most of all, she saw the life quickly draining from his once vibrant eyes.

A cold calculation on her own face as she often watched him, Morgana knew that Uther's spirit was broken. She reasoned that he was dying. For her, the timing could not have been more perfect. Over twenty years he had ruled Camelot but now his time for rule had come to an end. Within six months she expected him to be in his sick bed, and catatonic, for most of the time. Within the year she anticipated him dead. From his deathbed she expected him to make her Queen of Camelot. Both knew that she was his only heir. Geoffrey of Mammoth guarded the genealogy records. Gaius, the physician, held the secrets of her birth and half, if not all, the elders knew the fate of a long-absent Goloris while the king bedded his wife.

Morgana had a right to rule Camelot. No denying it. When queen, she would make the five kingdoms bow at her feet. Every man, woman and child would grovel for mercy from the unloved, unwanted and once secret bastard of Uther Pendragon.

*********************************

In sonnet and in song, from drinking yarns in tavern barns to noble gates where poets spun and singers sung, all knew the story of the Sorcerer and the Cock. Twenty years the legend grew and every coveting family knew that its own son would someday inherit Camelot. Dragon crests and ivory towers, noble knights with poise and power, abundant wealth that knew no sum, many young men dreamed of claiming Uther Pendragon's kingdom. 

As the tale was often told, Uther Pendragon, young and bold, boasted the fairest two women to grace a kingdom’s court. One, his queen. The other, a witch. But a barren queen the king so loved and he pleaded the witch to help give his queen a son. The witch reluctantly granted his plea and at far too dear a cost, to all three. The price for a prince fate charged a queen and Uther Pendragon went mad. The witch he damned and purged his land of all of her sorcerous kind. For his great and evil burns the witch damned Uther in return and from the crib, she stole his son. Upon the child’s cock she placed a curse and only by magic would it reverse. The same sorcery that he so condemned would Uther Pendragon know his own son, again…

*********************************

Twenty years, Uther searched for his long lost son. By recognition alone, he hoped to find his legitimate heir, born of his queen. Twenty years, he slaughtered all people of magic with hopes to ease his grieving heart. Twenty years, he dismissed the curse with hopes that it was just a fable. But after twenty years, Uther Pendragon lost all hope. Mad in mind and broken in spirit like the signs that Morgana witnessed, Uther soon took to his sick bed.

And catatonic for most of the time.

A loving ward, the servants all said, when Morgana sat vigilantly by his bed but Uther knew that she patiently waited for him to make her gueen. Finally, Uther said, “Send Geoffrey of Mammoth to me. I will instruct him to take care of all legal matters and by week's end a ceremony will be held, crowning you the new queen of Camelot.”

As Uther spoke, a mighty dragon chained deep below grew enraged. “Nooo,” Kilgharrah bellowed while angrily rising and fiercely flapping his great wings. “Not the witch, Morgana! Never!”

Morgana was ecstatic. She rushed from Uther’s deathbed to fetch Geoffrey of Mammoth and then she rushed to find her maidservant, Guinevere. Much planning they needed to do, for the ceremony and the large celebration to follow. While she and Guinevere designed her crowning gown and while Geoffrey prepared the legal papers, Uther took to his catatonic state, again.

“Uther,” Kilgharrah called from deep within the dungeons. The voice seemed like a whisper into his subconscious mind. “Uther.”

A message from the gods, Uther was certain. His catatonic eyes wildly fluttered as the great dragon planted his plan to find Prince Arthur. “Find the sorcerer,” Kilgharrah said. “Find the sorcerer and you will find your son. Go to Ealdor and seek out the woman, Hunith. She is the key. The old man, Gaius, knows her well, by her name and by her trust. Speak to Gaius. Beseech his help and then go, find this woman and you will find your son…”

Hours, Kilgharrah slowly spoke, seeping his sorcery and sowing his seeds to save the sovereignty from the sinister sorceress, Morgana.

 

The next morning, Uther awoke, rejuvenated and filled with hope. No longer was he a broken man. Morgana grew beside herself in anger and anxiety. She rushed through the palace halls and dead on his heels, speaking low but demanding to know the haste that gave him such vigor, again.

Hope hasting his pace, Uther ordered a convoy of knights and wagons be prepared. With Gaius at his side, they left for Ealdor that same day. The villagers all cowered and many ran to hide to see the knights of Camelot ride in. However, as the king had hoped, or rather, the great dragon had planned, joy soon replaced the villagers’ fears. Wagons bearing them food and gifts was cause for celebration, instead. More food and supplies Uther promised and with protection against the marauders if they pledged their allegiance to him. Should war with Mercia come, the villagers readily vowed to stand by Camelot. All knew that Mercia had abandoned them to bandits, ages ago.

The sun setting and the knights divvying out the wagons, Hunith walked up and skeptically greeted, “Gaius.” With a steel grip, she grabbed his elbow and escorted him from the wagons and on beside a building to talk. Both knew that her fears were well-founded in twenty years of anguish. “Why does Uther come here,” she demanded to know.

“Good news,” he said and he took her hands in his, patting them to calm her fears. “I’ll explain it all over dinner,” he told her, inviting himself into her home.

While Uther wooed the village elders at a head supper table, Gaius broke bread with Hunith in her humble little hut. He often glanced at the tall and lanky boy seated quietly in a corner, aware that the boy followed his every word.

After a time spent reminiscing and the food graciously eaten, Gaius told Hunith the story of a legend. A tale made famous in sonnet and in song, from drinking yarns in tavern barns to noble gates where poets spun and singers sung. "The legend of the Sorcerer and the… um… Missing Prince,” he discreetly offered. Once the tale was told, again, he then said, "your son is the sorcerer in the legend." However, Gaius didn’t reveal how Uther had discovered. He wasn’t certain, himself, but he suspected the great dragon and that Albion’s time was close at hand.

Hunith remained silent. The news about her son didn’t seem to surprise to her, at all. Instead, she dropped her head. Gaius gave her a moment to contemplate the reason Uther had come and he slowly cleared their dishes from the table.

In the corner, Merlin continued to sit and listen. He surmised why his mother was not surprised, however, his own eyes practically glowed, giddy with his magic. It sung inside his body, telling him that all the old man had said was true.

Since old enough to remember, Merlin knew that he always had been a cockwatcher. No doubt, his mother knew that, too, and the reason that she didn’t seem surprised to hear news that her son shared a legend with a cock. Since his mid-teens, his searching eyes had left him ostracized as the village freak. Behind an old barn in the darkness of night with many village men and with passing strangers, too, he readily surrendered to their whims whenever they noticed that his searching eyes watched their crotches.

Yet, each experience behind the old barn had left Merlin more troubled and confused. Like the beating of his heart, he held no control over his magic. As if by design, his body refused every attempted entry. No cock managed to touch him and only Will, once, to finger fuck him. Before any could place their rigid cocks against his eagerly offered little hole, they always went flaccid. In the men’s own confusion, some resorted to beating him for first soliciting and then rejecting, somehow, their advances. 

Coming home often bloody, Merlin always told some tale about an ongoing dispute over a field plow. He knew that his mother never believed him. He now understood why she never believed him and why he let so many attempt to mount him and why his body rejected then, all. Clear to him, now, as he sat in the corner, he had been engaging in his own little search to find Prince Arthur.

Thanks to the old man, Merlin now knew that somewhere, out there, was just one person who could stop his cockwatching eyes… One person, who could fill his yearning body and make him feel whole… The other side of his coin, one person was destined to penetrate him, was destined to love him, and that one person was the lost prince of Camelot.

With his giddy eyes upon Gaius, he watched the old man slowly return to the table. As if Gaius somehow knew the troubles that came with being the sorcerer in the legend and the grief that it had brought into their lives, he said, “When Uther finds his son, he promises that your son will be protected and esteemed here in Ealdor, just outside Camelot, since magic is still forbidden in his kingdom. It’s the reason that he seeks the village’s allegiance and will leave his knights, for everyone's protection. Uther can't afford to have such a powerful sorcerer under Cendred’s control,”

Hunith finally stopped him. She spewed twenty years of hurt and anger as she said, “Nor will Uther let my son even live!”

“Hunith,” he almost whispered in an effort to calm her raised voice. Hoping it safe, he glanced toward her windows and door. Speaking softly, he said, “I’m sure that Uther is not aware of what I’m about to say.” He then looked at Merlin, sitting in the corner. “Young man, a great destiny awaits you. The old religion, the druids, seers, cathers, all, speak of a powerful sorcerer who will help King Arthur unite the land of Albion. It is your destiny. You were born to serve only him. But a destiny unfulfilled, if we fail to find the prince.”

Merlin had already made up his mind. With the help of a king, he was certain to find Arthur. Not for Uther Pendragon or Albion or other people of magic but for himself. He yearned to stop his eyes from watching every crotch that passed. He longed for a future where he wasn't considered a freak. Most of all, he yearned for the other half that would finally make him whole.

Hunith watched Merlin stand. Torn asunder, she knew the danger that he faced from Uther Pendragon but she also knew the danger that he faced in Ealdor or anywhere else. Coming home often bloody, she feared his death while engaged in his own private search. With the king’s protection, he would be safe until Arthur was found. Until then, Uther had a stake in his safety, as well. “Promise me, Gaius,” she pleaded. “Promise me that you will protect Merlin once Uther has found his son.”

Gaius assured her. “If Arthur is not the man that legend proclaims, then I will escape Merlin far from Uther."

Hunith knew that he meant, like Balinor. She also knew that she couldn’t stop Merlin from leaving her, like Balinor has left her. A stifled cry and tears in her eyes, she helped him pack.


	2. The Mercenaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honor brought them together and honor would keep them together.

Another cool night in the far northern kingdom, the last sunrays slipped beyond the horizon. Gwaine returned to their campfire after a quick wash-up in a nearby stream. A few coins in his pocket, he tossed them onto the ground and with a frown while gazing down, he spoke, "Thuros, your mood of late has become totally unbearable, my friend. Either we part company this very eve or you will journey to the village with the others and cavort with a wench to remove that perpetual scowl from your face. My last mead funds, I donate to this most urgent cause.”

Thuros gathered the coins and tried to give them back. “Nor will I tolerate you with no drink for another fortnight,” he uttered, low and wicked. “I will not subject myself to your own venomous mood.”

Gwaine refused the coins. “Then, we part company, this eve,” he concluded. “A pity, after five long years.”

The others returned from the stream and Leon started dousing their campfire. “We, all, will go into the village,” he said. "We have coins enough for both drink and wenches. That is, if we can find none too proud to share the same flagon and share the same room. Tomorrow, we ride for Mercia.” 

“Why Mercia,” Percival asked as he gathered up his bedroll spread beside Thuros.

Elyan answered while gathering up his bedroll, too. “Rumor has it that Cendred seeks good fighting men.” 

Thuros furrowed. He gazed up at the lot, watching them break a camp that they had just set up. “And why should Cendred be different from all the rest,” he asked. “I’m certain that our reputation has reached him, as well. Perhaps, we should save those few coins to seek shelter when the weather is less agreeable.”

“The weather will never be less agreeable than your current mood," Gwaine countered. "If you would seek the services of a wench on occasion, you might grow to like it.”

“Gwaine," Leon called out in a cautioning tone. “Leave it be.” 

“But why,” he insisted. “Am I the only one to notice his strange behavior toward women? The last wench we purchased for him, I believe that he merely talked our money away.” 

“Gwaine!” He cautioned, again. “I said, leave it be!”

He continued. "In case you haven't noticed, the only comfort that Thuros seeks is when he curls beside big Percival to sleep and steals his body heat."

"Gwaine!"

Lancelot spoke up to quell the old squabble. “Thuros can nurse another drink until we’ve done in the room. He then can come to bed. A warm room on this cool night will do us, all, a world of good.” The words worked. Thoughts of a warm room after Leon doused their campfire made Thuros rise and pack his horse, too. They rode a few miles to the village just over the ridge. 

“But Mercia,” Percival asked, again, as they rode. “Why would Cendred need more mercenaries?”

An honorless trade, yet honor bound them together. All orphaned since early childhood, none had or remembered his family. Raised by an old midwife, here, an old farmer or an old beggar, there, each struck out on his own when old enough to fend for himself. Fate converged their paths. Fate and swords. Among mercenaries, they were considered, by far, the best fighting men in all the lands -- but unwise to hire them, the other mercenaries said, they might return their pay and switch sides in the middle a fight, depending on which side they deemed to be right. 

Leon answered Percival, this time. “Let us, at least, see what Cendred offers.”

For meager coins, Cendred hired them. Rumor had it that Uther Pendragon was encroaching upon his kingdom. Ealdor was of no concern but Cendred wanted to know how far the encroachment spread or if Uther Pendragon had further plans to invade Mercia. He sent his newly hired mercenaries to find out.


	3. The Cockshow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for Arthur begins.

Merlin often stood at his new bedroom window with his eyes mesmerized by the splendor of Camelot. Captivating him, too, the court physician’s quarters offered a brave new world of knowledge. He had expected to live in the dismal dungeons, although no bars could hold him. The room Gaius offered was a generous, cozy and thrilling surprise. Hundreds of books, medicines and gadgets covered the premises just outside his bedroom door. He could learn a lot in the healing art from Gaius but mostly he sought his wisdom. Much like a father that he never knew.

The current wisdom that Merlin sought, he asked over their dinner table. “Gaius,” he braved to start the conversation. “How exactly does Uther plan to find his son?”

Gaius knew that Merlin asked for specific details about the cocksearch. Details that his own little backside was required to perform. Gaius answered him with efforts to ease some of his anxieties. “The king and I discussed the matter at great lengths," he said. "And he has assured me, only once a week and perhaps a dozen young men on that particular day. Most seeking his throne will be denied, initially, and for obvious reasons. Finding a dozen viable prospects will probably take a week. However, all tests will be performed in the courtyard and for all to witness.”

Merlin nodded. He had assumed the cobblestone bailey and with hundreds of spectators to verify the true prince. “Just once a week,” he said, seeking optimism. “At least, none but the prince will actually succeed.” 

Gaius smiled at his optimism. He liked Hunith’s son. For her sake, he petitioned the king for numerous amenities for the boy and with the logic that a sorcerer would simply escape if placed in his dungeons under lock and key. Now, he would petition the king for Merlin’s sake, as well. But those same petitions were straining his relationship with Uther. 

 

Thanks to Gaius, Merlin roamed freely throughout the palace and the lower town, as well. He even ventured into the forest and collected herbs for Gaius. Camelot’s subjects often stopped and stared at the young warlock walking casually about Uther Pendragon's kingdom. They dared not speak openly of the king's hypocrisy. After twenty years of searching for his son and his spirit fading fast, all knew that the legend was his last resort. At the same time, many surmised what Uther would do to the warlock once his son was found. Some bet on the chopping block. Others wagered a pyre. Gaius held a silent fear for the pyre, too, and at the cost of his own life, he would not let Hunith down.

 

 

Word traveled throughout the five kingdoms that the sorcerer from the legend had been found. Morgana often stood in her window and watched the young men arrive in Camelot. She knew that each came seeking what rightfully belonged to her. Yet, she could not rid herself of Arthur Pendragon when she did not know what he looked like.

The warlock, she did know. She often saw him walking in the castle halls and on many occasions, she stopped to talk. “Merlin, how are you finding your stay, here, in Camelot,” she always happily asked.

“Find, my lady,” he always happily answered. She seemed kind. Not to mention beautiful. She, also, was one of the few people who had the courage to speak to him.

She often said, “I’m so grateful that you’ve come. Your presence has meant the world to the king. You’ve given him hope, again, and I’m confident that you will find his son for him.” 

“I hope so, too, my lady,” he often replied, and with a smile. For some reason, Gaius constantly warned him about the lady Morgana. The old physician never said exactly why but to simply steer clear of her. He implied that Morgana was dangerous. Merlin didn't think that she was dangerous. Lonely, perhaps. A bit troubled, too, and saddened to be the ward of such a hard and ruthless man.

However, Morgana was very dangerous. And calculating. She first thought secretly to kill the warlock and simply end the cocksearch before it started. Yet, she alone had motive to kill him. Namely, a claim to a throne. If she killed the warlock, a mad Uther might deny her claim for killing his last hope. Everyone else wanted the sorcerer alive to find the prince or to become the prince. After twenty years, she doubted if the prince still lived. Another failure would surely break Uther and his death would be swift, this time. The warlock’s death, even faster.

Morgana calculated it best simply to wait. As she waited, she often gazed from her window and down into the courtyard. The first official day of the search, the bailey filled to capacity and the gates were closed against the overflow. The atmosphere soon became a circus. Venders occupied every niche and corner with tendrils in the crowd peddling their food, drink and toys. Others charged a small fortune to use their makeshift toilets. Every guard and knight of Camelot now stood sentry, watching the hundreds of strangers coming to watch the cockshow. Many of them were young men hoping to be the show and with the cock destined to claim a kingdom. 

Near mid morning, Uther ordered his elders to take position at a table placed before the citadel steps. Merlin sat behind the elders and high upon the top rung. The weather still warm in the autumn days, he soon removed his jacket. Against a brilliant sunshine, his eyes naturally searched every crotch that came before the elder's table. He then searched the face that owned the crotch. Occasionally, he hoped that a particular face belonged to Arthur. He often prayed that other faces did not. He also watched the elders, seated below. One elder would ask each man a list of questions while the other five elders gazed upon the man’s appearance. 

Of those seeking a throne, age, alone, weeded-out many. Receding gums, hairlines and crows feet spoke of years far beyond twenty. More quickly were weeded-out for other obvious reasons. Moorish complexions would never do. Eastern Asiatic eyes and Mediterranean noses were sent packing, too. Of those who passed the elders’ tests, Geoffrey of Mammoth did the rest. Portraits and facts on Ygraine and Uther’s genealogy told of blonde, black, and sandy hair but no mention of teeny-tiny skulls, drooping eyes and no chins…

Near dusk, only three young men had passed the initial inquiries. The three, the elders recorded and provided them with shelter. In a few days, they were told, the king would order the final cocktest. Gazing from his balcony, once again, to monitor the progress, Uther suddenly grew elated. He saw his spitting image. “You,” he shouted while pointing into the crowd. “You! There! Come forward!”

Once the young man deciphered where the king pointed, he wasted no time in elbowing his way through the crowd. Big, study, proud, strong and with golden hair, he commanded the posture and appearance of a once youthful Uther and without delay or questioning, Uther ordered the cocktest. “Sorcerer,” he commanded while turning his eyes upon Merlin. “Drop your trousers!” 

Merlin jumped to his feet and upon the citadel landing. Stunned by the abrupt demand, he stared across the courtyard at the king. Only three men, the elders had gathered. Gaius assured him that Uther said a dozen and with only one day in seven that he would drop his breeches. Merlin broke into a cold sweat. His nerves were unprepared and he started taking deep and calming breaths. Through a slow and final exhalation, he did as he was ordered.

With his breeches riding his shoes, he stood thanking the heavens that the tunic he wore that day nearly reached his knees. Suddenly, Merlin started inching aside. He saw the young man leaping, wild and frantic in his rush up the steps. Once the young man reached the top, he stopped within a meer meter of Merlin and without a second's hesitation, he whipped out his cock.

Not an attractive piece of flesh that Merlin stared down at, it was wide, flat, purple, curved and burdened with an enormous head. Nor was the face that Merlin looked up in to. It oozed with lust, greed and a desperate desire for fortune and fame. As the young man beat mercilessly at his flat purple flesh, he offered no word and showed no concern for the person that he prepared to penetrate.

The once lulled crowd grew with an excitement that matched the man’s erection. Straining forward and pushing each other, all vied for a closer view. Ooos and ooohs erupted to see his cock's quick expansion with its bludgeoning head rising up toward the warlock.

Merlin was not impressed. He was more startled and confused. The same troubling sensations that he always felt behind the barn started to overwhelm him. He now expected that his magic would readily relax his muscles from his powerful yearning to receive the true prince. But the opposite was occurring. He felt his muscles constricting, again. Almost painfully so. Despite Uther’s certainty, his magic told him that this man was not Prince Arthur. As his troubling sensation grew, a hand suddenly reached out and grabbed him by his shoulder. The man started forcing him around while lifting up his tunic…

“No!” Merlin shouted. As he shouted, his hand went up as his eyes flashed gold. The man stumbled backward. The side of his foot teetered precariously off the landing as the crowd retreated, too, shoving and pushing back to flee the sudden sorcery. Merlin looked toward the crowd with his eyes pleading that they not fear him while the man flapped his arms, desperate to find his balance. Suddenly, Uther’s spitting image tumbled down the steps. 

Merlin stood, petrified. He thought to use more magic to stop the fall but he feared that more magic would stampede the frightened crowd. So, Merlin watched the young man tumble. With his terrified eyes, he then looked up at the king. From his distance, Uther did not appear too irate. After the chaos settled, the only sound heard was the man moaning behind the table and the quickly vacated chairs while coming to his feet. Uther then ordered his elders, “Provide that man with shelter along with the other three. The search is ended for today.” Whirling around, he went inside. He didn't stop until he reached Camelot’s vaults.

On the way to his strategy room, the king ordered the first servant that he saw. “Fetch me Gaius.”

 

Uther sat at one end of his long strategy table when Gaius entered and stopped at the opposite end. Jaws still tight on his face, Uther spoke low but demanding. “You assured me that this boy would cooperate if allowed his freedom.”

“And Uther, he will,” Gaius said, quick to convince him. “I’m certain that you took him by surprise, today. We agreed upon groups of a dozen. The elders had only three. Merlin was simply unprepared.” 

“Since he refuses one, what convinces you that he will allow a dozen," Uther asked, still civil but growing incensed. He then slid the item from his vaults the length of the table. 

Gaius stood still while staring at the little frightening trinket. A decade since he recalled seeing one, he hoped that all had been forsaken, buried or cast into the rivers, years ago. He stared at a wristlet. A thin gold dragon-etched ban signifying the gold crest of Camelot. Thousands of little gifts from the king to his loyal subjects in his kingdom. However, Uther had identified many sorcerers with the simple piece of jewelry. Once placed upon the wrist, no sorcerer could take it off. The wristlet restricted their magic and their own magic made the wristlet indestructible. A day or so after Uther sent out his trinkets, he sent his guards to search every home while his knights traversed the countryside and gathered all the helpless people of magic who tried to flee his kingdom. That summer, blood never dried on Uther Pendragon’s chopping block nor his pyre ceased to smolder. That was the year of his great purge.

As Gaius stared at the wristlet, he knew that he was letting Hunith and Merlin down. He now vehemently petitioned the king. “Please, Uther, give the boy another chance.” 

“Or, another opportunity to openly defy me,” he snapped. The anger finally burst from Uther and he came to his feet. “That boy dares to mock my authority with his display of sorcery before all of my people! That, I will not tolerate!” 

Gaius cried logic. “But, Uther, the wristlet will restrict his magic when only by magic can he find your son for you!”

"Then, for the boy’s sake,” he said, "You should pray that is not the case." But unsure, himself, he sat again with his posture and eyes both dismissing Gaius. His order was final.

Gaius nodded, accepting the king's demand. “I'll present the wristlet as a present from me,” he conceded but as he slowly left, he knew that he must present Merlin with the chance to escape instead, and at the risk of his own life. 

 

The day had been a total fiasco for Merlin. After he gathered up his trousers, he ran through the castle while clutching them about his waist. He didn’t stop running until he reached Gaius’ quarters. Petrification still on his face when the slow old man finally arrived, Merlin rushed into his arms. 

When the king summoned Gaius, Merlin sat on the steps beneath the bookshelves and waited. He continued to sit on the steps when Gaius returned and pleaded that he escape. Merlin continued to sit and contemplate. After thinking long and hard, he moved to their eating table. Once seated across from Gaius, he finally spoke. Mainly to hear his own reasoning. “Gaius,” he said, low and slow. “I won't have a better opportunity to find Arthur than I have, right here. If I leave, I may never find him. Especially, while trying to hide from Uther, at the same time. I’ll be a fugitive. My mother, too. And Ealdor will be back to fearing bandits or even worse.” 

“Merlin, please,” he pleaded that he save himself. Inches from his face, Gaius shouted in a whisper. “Without your magic, you won’t be able to find Arthur. Instead, you’d be penetrated by the first young man who tried. And Uther certainly won’t let you keep your magic. Not after today. You have no choice but to run!” 

Merlin swayed his head. “If I leave, I risk your life, my mother's life and many others. If I stay, I risk only my own. And I must find Arthur." 

“Merlin, please,” Gaius pleaded, again. “Think carefully about what you are doing.” 

“I have. And I trust my magic, Gaius," he said. "Whether I have control over it, or not.”

Gaius looked skeptically at him. After a long moment of hesitation, he patted his hand with a deep affection and then he placed the thin gold wristlet upon the table. Gaius had to close his eyes because he could not bear to watch Merlin put it on. 

 

 

Uther stood on his balcony with a hard and proud face. Gazing down upon his subjects and at the strangers crowded into his bailey, again, he reassured them with his hard and proud face that sorcery would not be tolerated in his kingdom. The sorcerer who dared to display his witchcraft and frighten everyone had been bowed and subjugated. The warlock was no longer a threat to them.

Uther was right. Near the citadel steps, bowed, bent and with his bare backside exposed for all to see, Merlin was now chained and in the stocks. 

 

Uther showed him no mercy. From the ten bells of morning to often past the ten bells of night, Merlin remained bent and exposed. Uther dismissed his elders. Time simply wasted, he concluded. To speed the process, he ordered his guards to form a line of all the young men who came to participate in the cocksearch. After pushing and shoving where the table once stood, order was finally restored. The four young men previously selected were first in line. When Uther saw his spitting image approach Merlin while anxious and erect but watched his cock quickly drop totally limp, Uther turned and went inside. The crowd, itself, would tell him when he found his son. It may be days, or weeks, or maybe even months but now that Uther had hope, again, he still had his kingdom to rule.


	4. Pockets of Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Help starts to come to Merlin when he feels that all compassion is gone.

It was an angel. His blurry eyes beheld an angel. She seemed to float around the wooden planks encasing his neck as she came into his view. Merlin assumed that he had more stamina but he hadn’t survived a single day. Gaius was right to plead that he escape. He would have lived a bit longer. But an angel already was coming for him…

Bringing water?

Merlin blinked several times to clear his blurry eyes and mind. He doubted if any angel could have been more gracious as he gulped thirstily from her drinking gourd. When she leaned before his face and wiped it with a cool wet cloth, he considered her an angel, after all. 

“I’m Guinevere,” she whispered in her haste. “Morgana’s maidservant.”

Merlin greeted with a weary head nod that he often had seen her in the castle. He nodded, too, that he understood why she always turned her face aside or eased toward another corridor whenever she saw him. It simply was unwise for a lowly maidservant to befriend a sorcerer in Uther Pendragon’s court. Merlin wondered her wisdom, now, to bring him water when suddenly she whispered hastily, again. “Gaius pleaded the king to let us tend you. Just now, he’s arriving behind you with a spittoon to relieve your bladder.” 

Merlin watched her unfold a cloth draped over her arm while she hurriedly stood, leaving his view. Dozens of voices growing louder in the distance explained her haste. The crowd was getting antsy, protesting the delay. When he felt the cloth spread over his back, he closed his eyes and thanked the heavens for small mercies as Gaius held the handled vase for him to pee. 

What shred of dignity she could offer, she left his backside and came to wipe his face, again. “More water,” she asked but in a cautious tone that advised against it. By the rowdiness of the crowd, she didn’t know if she and Gaius would be able to return, that day.

Merlin heeded her advice and he uttered, “no, thank you,” then suddenly, she was gone. He dropped his weary head. It seemed that she took the last compassion on earth with her. Just then, he felt a tender rub upon his back before the cloth left, too and he was exposed to the crowd, again. Gaius’ simple rub reminded him that other pockets of compassion still existed in the world. Within moments, however, Merlin fought hard to retain that thought when a slap seemed to set his bare backside on fire. Another angry young man, flaccid and disappointed that he would not inherit a kingdom. 

 

 

 

Royalty would envy their stylish attire. Dark brown snakeskin trousers sewn with no visible seam. The black lizard vests were fit for a king. Leather jackets, coats, boots, scabbards, satchels, horse reins… Elyan was a genius with a needle, thread and at macramé. In his far distant past, he remembered someone saying that patience is the key. A female. Perhaps, his mother. Or maybe a sister. He was too young to recall the faces but he remembered that particular word. Patience. 

It took him two solid weeks but once he finished making the seemingly seamless snakeskin trousers, he tossed them to Lancelot as he said, “Try not to wear this pair out, so quickly.” 

In the thick forest of Ascetir near Ealdor, Lancelot held the trousers up to his waist. A small smile curved his lips but Elyan knew that his little smile equated to a big grin on most anyone else’s face. Lancelot simply was subdued; quiet, reflective and soft spoken. And perhaps the most noble of them all. Although Elyan fussed, he felt proud of his work when Lancelot rushed to don his new pair of breeches. 

Leon walked into their two day old camp. “They look good,” he said with a passing gaze at Lancelot before joining Thuros, Gwaine and Percival seated on logs around their campfire. Half a rabbit near the blaze called his name and Leon took the skewer in hand. Eating while he spoke, he reported, “The knights, all, have gone. Every man, horse and wagon. They rode southwest and back toward Camelot.” 

“Gone,” Thuros repeated, highly surprised. He looked up while sharpening his sword. 

Leon nodded in confirmation. “The villagers were none too pleased to see them go,” he said, giving his report from his turn on watch, that day. “Most begged the knights to stay and a few villagers ran after them while cursing them for leaving.” 

Gwaine rubbed at his stubble. With a grimace, he offered, “Perhaps, the reason they curse is that band of marauders, three ridges over.” After he spent most of his day watching the bandits watch the village, he surmised, “Those brigands must know, as well, that the knights have gone and they will waste no time to plunder.”

With his new breeches on, Lancelot joined them near the fire but he couldn’t sit, just yet. Instead, he started doing knee squats to stretch the snakeskin for more give and better comfort. Moving up and down, he huffed, “Percival and I saw no other battalion trails for miles around. Seems strange for Camelot’s knights to venture only to Ealdor and then retreat.” 

“Perhaps, we can find out why from the villagers, themselves,” Thuros said as he doused their campfire, this time. “No need to remain out here now that Camelot’s knights have left us with the task to defend Ealdor.”

As they anticipated, the bandits rode into Ealdor just as they did. But a short battle, the best fighting men in all the land dispatched the rift-raft with little ado. The villagers considered it a big ado and readily offered them food and their homemade brew. No tavern to be had in Ealdor. No wenches, either. But no hardship for the strapping young mercenaries, they did not come seeking the services of wenches despite finding all too proud in their last attempt. They came for information, instead. 

Information about Uther Pendragon and why his knights were in Mercia. With many villagers crammed into the elder’s home with them, the villagers readily spilled their anger toward the treacherous king for his hollow promises. The elder said that Uther came asking for their allegiance only to abandon them. Still, no rhyme or reason that told Uther’s intentions, the mercenaries often glanced about the room at each other. However, they saw another set of eyes glancing at them, far harder. 

Hunith. Her face beseeched urgently their help. Uther had just abandoned the place where he promised her son esteem and protection. She feared that Uther had abandoned him, as well. 

Almost in unison the mercenaries started to yawn and stretch, implying that they needed to get some rest. After another round of profound gratitude from the villagers, they were provided shelter in the elder’s old wooden hay barn. But not long there, Hunith secretly fetched them to her own home. Seeing a damsel in distress, the honorable young men could not resist her plea for help.

Hunith fluttered about her one-room house while constantly wringing her hands. She hesitated to tell the strangers about her son’s personal life. As she nervously fluttered, she offered and served them cow-chip tea. Watching her flutter, they calmly waited on her from their bench seats at her table. When Thuros moved to a stool to tend her fire, she pulled a chair close beside him, finally sat, and after a moment, she slowly started. “Uther searches for his son,” she said. 

Their eyes raised surprised by her unexpected topic. However, an unrestrained Gwaine verbalized their surprise and he practically shouted, “His son! Then, you imply that cockshow currently underway in Camelot!” The others' cringing faces and an elbow to his side made Gwaine ask, “What?”

Their cringing faces gave way to shaking heads meaning apology for Gwaine’s lack of tact. 

Thuros passed a glaring glance at him while turning his face toward Hunith, seated very near his side. Far too near for a total stranger, he thought. “And how does Uther’s search for his son concern you,” he asked her.

“Or concern us, for that matter,” Leon asked her, too.

Again, Hunith hesitated before she uttered, “My son, Merlin, is the sorcerer in the legend with Uther’s son.”

Suddenly, they understood her anguish. A deep and heartfelt sympathy in his voice for her, Thuros said, “That would explain the Knights in Ealdor and the petition for your village’s allegiance. Uther promised you protection but no doubt, it was his guise to entice your son to Camelot.” 

Hunith started to wring her hands again as her eyes gazed about her humble walls. What Thuros surmised was only half correct. She was unwilling but she thought it important to tell them the rest. “No lure was necessary,” she said. “My son needed to go. And you should be aware of that, before,” she stopped.

However, Leon completed her urgent plea. “Before we fetch him back to you,” he said and then he swayed his head in doubt. All of their heads swayed as Leon spoke their consensus. “A perilous task, you request,” he said, “to challenge a king in search of his son. Uther Pendragon will not relinquish yours, willingly.”

Lancelot softly spoke. “Especially, if your son chooses not to be relinquished.”

Hunith stifled her tears to accept their decision. It was, indeed, a dangerous task that she asked. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Please, forgive me. It was unwise of me to even suggest that so few face so many.” She then stood, signifying to them that she had put the foolish thought out of her mind. “Thank you so much for listening to me,” she graciously said, implying that they now could leave. 

But such a gracious woman that all would be proud to call mother, they did not leave, just yet. Lancelot gave his little subdued smile to his companions as he asked, “And what of Uther’s plans to invade Mercia?” 

His meaning as well as his little smile was clear and Elyan answered, “Cendred did send us here to find that out.”

Gwaine simply snorted at them. Leon and Percival nodded and then Thuros told Hunith what they just had decided. “We make no guarantees,” he said. “But we will seek the status of your son, for you.”

No longer could Hunith stifle her tears. She openly cried. After composing herself, she gave them the rest of the information that she had.

 

Back in the barn, Gwaine complained, “I’ve never cared for the smell of goats.” 

Lancelot wrapped himself tighter in his blanket. “And still, this mound of hay feels far better than the hard ground," he said, in gratitude.

Above the animals in the crack-riddled hay loft lighted by a brilliant moon, Thuros rolled for comfort but accidentally rolled against Percival‘s back.

Half asleep, Percival elbowed him off. “Not enough room for you,” he grumbled.

Gwaine took the opportunity to continue his endless joke. “Thuros, are you mistaking Percival for a wench, again,” he asked.

“Gwaine,” Leon cautioned him, as always. “One of these days you’ll go too far and find yourself on the end of his sword.”

“Thuros knows that I jest in envy," he teased. "All prudish marriage-seeking women can sniff out virginity and the pity, I squandered my own, ages ago.”

“Gwaine.”

Despite Leon’s warnings, he continued to joke. “Percival still has most of his virgin smell. Lancelot, too. Elyan has remnants but Leon, you and I are destined to be bachelors for life.”

Lancelot retaliated, using Gwaine’s own boast of promiscuity against him. “Then, it seems, Gwaine, that you will not hesitate to join in the cockfest once we reach Camelot,” he asked but in a clever challenge. 

Gwaine knew him far too well to fall victim to his words. “I’d rather be the son of Satan, himself, than spawn from the loins of Uther Pendragon.”

“You are the son of Satan,” Elyan laughed. 

Thuros finally spoke up. In a voice eerily prophetic and serious enough to stop their joking, he said, “That poor mother. She must feel as if she’s in hell, herself. Imagine her son, the center of that crude search and yet she said that he chose… no, she said that he needed to go. What total desperation left him no choice than to subject himself to such humiliation and abuse,” he asked while trying to understand. 

As Gwaine shifted about for a comfortable sleep position, he said, “It appears that Uther’s prince and her little pauper are in the same fix. Both are sexually damned." Settling on his side, he uttered, "It makes me now wonder, Thuros, if it is you with a cock cursed to know only a sorcerer’s backside.” 

“Gwaine.” 

 

 

The mercenaries walked into Camelot well past midday. No space to ride their horses and certainly no rooms for let, they were forced to seek shelter in the forest like most of the other young men. The lower town was simply too crowded. And too rowdy. Guards stood at every corner but mainly to keep the peace. Drunk and angry young men staggered all about the streets. Camelot’s knights took to herding the drunks from the lower town and back into the woods but many managed to return and some managed to try their luck, again.

The castle gates already were closed against the overflow when they arrived and they soon learned that they had to rise bright and early to get a place inside. Even then, they stood against a distant wall with their visions partially block by large pillars. Listening to various conversations in the crowded courtyard, they heard that the sorcerer no longer was a threat to anyone. His magic had been restrained.

The crowd suddenly went quiet with anticipation. The time had come to bring the warlock from the dungeons and down the citadel steps, again. An added public display, Uther insisted upon the practice to show his contempt for magic and his control over it, as well. Two guards muscled Merlin through the castle doors with firm grips to his arms. A chain upon the ankle cuffs of his bare feet, the slack came dragging and screeching behind him. He wore only a tunic and a shorter one purposely selected that provided all a glimpse of his front when before now, just his backside was exposed while he leaned, bent in the stocks.

As Merlin was brought into the sunlight, Thuros suddenly froze to see him. He then felt as though his heart wept.


	5. The courtyard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major events unfold in the shadows of the bailey, in Camelot.

Corridors encircled most of the inner courtyard. Wide pillars with low-hanging archways steeped the corridors deep in shadows. Numerous doorways led inside the castle with long steps, two or three rungs, each. Lancelot, Thuros, Gwaine and Elyan elevated their heights by standing on the steps. Leon and Percival could see directly over the crowd. While shadowed deep inside a corridor, they watched the activities in the cobblestone bailey of Camelot.

Two guards practically carried the exhausted looking warlock down the castle steps and ushered him the short distance toward the stocks. Wooden barriers waist high kept the courtyard crowd some five meters at bay. The mercenaries found themselves only ten meters away by their angled view. Thuros watched with clouding eyes as Hunith's son slowly made his way. The young warlock kept his face cast toward the ground as if to block from his mind his cruel reality. Once near the stocks, however, Merlin started to move his head about, searching faces in the crowd when suddenly his head went still and he gazed directly through the archway into the corridor.

Thuros knew that Hunith's son could not see him clearly, steeped in the shadows and yet he seemed to stare right at him. With his heart weeping, Thuros suddenly gasped.

Lancelot heard him gasp. “So, you see it, too,” he asked Thuros, standing at his side. His own tone was filled with such a shock that it made Thuros look around at him. 

Lancelot was slowly turning his face to stare back at Thuros, and growing pale, his mouth fell slightly ajar. The others were turning their heads to stare at Thuros, too, and Leon had an equally shocked expression creeping onto his face, like Lancelot. Before Thuros could ask why they all stared at him, including the warlock, a voice boomed out over the silent crowd. 

“Starting today,” Uther Pendragon bellowed from his balcony. “In groups of fifty, all those who complete their attempt with the sorcerer will be ushered by my guards beyond my lowertown limits! To return, is upon pain of death! No longer will you treat my kingdom like your drunken orgy! Order will be restored to Camelot!”

As Uther stood speaking, Thuros felt volcanoes erupt in his already weeping chest. When the king swirled and went back inside, Thuros leaned with his back plastered against the outside door. He then started muttering, “No, no, no. That man is not my father…”

“But you look just like him,” Gwaine begged to differ.

“…no, no, no…” he assured their staring faces. “That man is not my father.”

Other faces near them were starting to stare at Thuros, too, when suddenly the courtyard burst into jeers and laughter. The sheer noise resounding off the circled buildings took their attention. Another proud peacock, smug with youth and nature’s endowment had shrunk as if dropped into a river of ice cold water. The embarrassed peacock scurried hunched and holding about his shriveled endowment, grateful that a guard beckoned him into the shadows beside the citadel steps to start the first group of fifty. The mercenaries now understood why so many drunk young men staggered about the streets of Camelot. 

Thuros continued to mutter, “…I am not a prince. That man is not my father. No, no, no.” But he now muttered to convince himself. The legend of the Sorcerer and the Cock, the problems with his own cock, an orphan and his resemblance to Uther Pendragon all fit perfectly like a well-crafted puzzle. With his heart weeping lava, he stared at the poor young warlock for the longest while. He couldn’t help but note how calm and still he stayed as each lustful man lusting for a kingdom hovered near his bare backside. Hunith’s son stayed calm and still when each man approaching him made Thuros feel angry enough to kill. He wondered, again, why her son would do it. As he wondered, the clouds in his eyes grew heavy with water. Tears, that threatened to rain down his face. If he were, indeed, the missing prince of Camelot, then the warlock was doing it to find him. Hunith said that her son “needed” to come. Merlin “needed” him. 

As the day progressed, Thuros' thoughts made his weeping, burning and angry heart feel weak. He wanted to run away from being so needed. He wanted to escape the madness, the laughter and the jeers. He wanted to flee to some quiet peaceful place deep within the forest where life remained simple. But he couldn’t run. He was trapped in a shadowy corridor by the loud and insidious crowd. The gates were locked, as well. Feeling faint, he needed to sit. He took a seat on the steps.

Standing next to him, Lancelot sensed the reasons that he sat. He understood his inner turmoils and he rested a comforting hand upon his shoulder. Still gazing into the courtyard, Lancelot said, “This is, indeed, a wretched display.” He spoke low that the strangers standing near could not hear. “If, Merlin, there, now chooses to be relinquished, then I truly believe that we must make the attempt.”

Gwaine stood on the other side of Thuros. “And how do you suggest we find that out,” he whispered over Thuros’ head to ask Lancelot.

That answer was apparent to the others and even young Percival said, "Someone needs to get close enough to Merlin to ask." All standing eyes then gazed upon Gwaine. It was he who constantly boasted of being the most libertine of them, all. Lancelot gave Gwaine a little smile for him to see what his boasting had brought.

“Not in a thousand years,” Gwaine almost shouted. “I am not joining this cockshow!” Other faces turning to look at him made him whisper, again. Still, he whispered in a shout. “By far, Thuros is the obvious choice! Chances are great that he has the curse'ed cock destined to find its pleasure, and at last, in that sorcerer's tight little ass!”

“Gwaine!”

Thuros uttered, again, while still feeling faint. “I am not a prince. That man is not my father.”

“And if he is,” Leon whispered, arguing with Gwaine while contradicting Thuros, “then Hunith’s son will lose his head right where he stands.”

Lancelot felt Thuros’ shoulder jerk to hear the words but Leon had an indisputable point. All except Thuros looked into the courtyard at the warlock’s head, again. It was already positioned for slicing the moment that Uther Pendragon found his son. 

But as they looked, they saw a young woman followed by a slow old man rushing toward the stocks. Lancelot strained his eyes in hopes to see clearer. He was beholding an angel. Elyan stood a bit taller. He struggled to recall familiar features and mannerisms changed only by time. They watched her tender mercy to give the warlock water, wipe his face and offer him dignity with a cloth before the old man rubbed gently at his back while holding the spittoon for him to pee. 

While they watched, they saw possible allies to help rescue Hunith’s son. 

Lancelot was the most gallant of them, all. He looked down at Thuros. With a comforting squeeze to his shoulder, he said, “Have no fear. I am the prince of Camelot.” He started leaving for the courtyard. Gwaine looked down at Thuros, too. He had never seen him so distraught. What Gwaine could do for Thuros, he tried to do and he grabbed Lancelot by the arm. “No, my friend,” he said. “I’m the prince of Camelot. With your subdued nature, you’d never manage an erection out there.” Smiling at Lancelot, Gwaine gave a quick grab and shake of his own crotch boasting again of his sexual prowess. He then muscled through the crowd to join the other young men waiting their turn in line to be the prince of Camelot. 

Gwaine, however, was far too brass to wait too long. He selected a novice looking fellow in line and in full view of the guards, he sashayed up to the fellow while smiling and greeting him as if he knew him. Once close enough and still smiling with his hand resting casually on his pommel, he uttered, “say one word and I’ll run you through.” Then, with an old familiar pat on the young man’s shoulder, he continued to jabber while he stepped in line in front of him. “I’ve been looking all day for you,” he said. “Nor will I let you from my sight, again, once I've inherited Camelot. Share and share alike has always been our motto…” 

When no one else in line protested too loudly and certainly not the scared young man, the guards looked toward louder noises coming from the crowd. More laughter and jeers at another overly proud young peacock who had just had his plume plucked. Gwaine’s companions shook their heads in amazement at his daring feat. Their heads then shook in amusement when Gwaine opened his trousers and started to beat his meat. Their heads went completely still with anticipation when he approached Merlin. 

Gwaine leaned in close as if preparing to penetrate him. Instead, he whispered, “Ealdor worries. Rattle your chain if you wish her embrace and far away from this place.”

Two knights standing near and with the unconscionable duty to herald a successful penetration, one shouted at Gwaine. “No talking to the prisoner!”

Gwaine stepped back and gazed upon the knight as if he had no heart. “Just a decent word. Just a proper introduction,” he explained. “Before I split wide his little ass with my big royal cock.” 

The knight snorted at him before he scoffed, “Then, get on with it.”

The chain never rattled.

Gwaine went flaccid.


	6. Selfish yet Noble Demands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has been through far too much to wait any longer.

Laughter and jeers enough for one day, many spectators stole opportunity to leave behind the guards ushering out another group of fifty. Several knights stood just inside the gates to prevent more people from entering since Uther Pendragon ordered the courtyard be emptied by the eighth bell of eve. One of the knights held no suspicion when a well-dressed, subdued and soft-spoken young man stopped on his way out and asked information. Lancelot inquired about the young woman who tended the sorcerer, that day. The knight could clearly hear his engrossed tone and see it in his riveted eyes. Lancelot was smitten by her.

The knight did raise a quizzical brow, however, when Lancelot asked about the old man, as well. "The court physician, Gaius," he answered, but a bit hesitant.

Quick to put the knight at ease, Lancelot truthfully explained, “My friend ails and I thought to seek his service to tend him.” He gave the knight a gracious head bow and he continued through the gates but before rejoining his companions, he stopped at the Rising Sun. A few coins from Cendred left in his money pouch, he purchased a jug of ale. 

Lancelot caught up to the others near the lower town limits. Thuros was moving very slowly. On shaky legs and with an occasional shake of his head, he occasionally muttered, “I am not the prince of Camelot. Uther Pendragon is not my father.” 

Leon, Elyan and Percival surrounded their distraught companion while he made his way slowly through the lower town. Seriously silent, each thought on the ramifications for Thuros. Ramifications for themselves, as well. Would Thuros shower them with riches far beyond their wildest dreams… or would consequence force him to abandon them for more noble companionship… or would he need them more than ever to challenge a cruel and unjust king… 

Endless thoughts, interrupted only by a dismal and dejected figure sitting propped against a tree beside their campsite. The miserable and dejected face suddenly raised elated to see what Lancelot carried. Gwaine reached anxiously for the jug in his hand.

Lancelot held the jug beyond his reach. “What’s that on your nose,” he asked.

“Surely, you jest,” Gwaine protested his evil action but looking up to see the little smile on Lancelot’s face, he knew that his drink would be withheld until he answered the question. Quick to reply, he said, “The guards’ parting gift to ensure my continued absence from Camelot.”

Percival exclaimed, “They painted your nose red!” He stared in shock at the deep crimson tent while Elyan fought laughter by feigning excessive concern. “It will wash off, won’t it,” he insisted to know.

Gwaine quickly answered his fake concern to get his flagon. “A staining concoction, guaranteed to wear off in a fortnight.”

“A fortnight,” Lancelot repeated and with actual sympathy in his tone, he handed Gwaine the jug.

“Thank you, my friend,” he said. “You truly are a lifesaver. That was, beyond a doubt, the most humiliating experience of my life. Emasculated, for all to see. Then, herded from the premises like the gelded animal. And branded, to boot,” he stopped and winced, wrinkling his red nose to remember. After a big swig, he sighed as he added, “And all for naught. The sorcerer chooses to remain in his bondage.”

The others sighed, too, to hear the news and they flopped to the ground around him. Except Percival. His stomach concerned him more. No food all day after rising bright and early to get a place inside the gates, he went to the stream gurgling nearby in hopes that their little nets had fish. Only three. Not enough to feed six young men. Percival dropped the fish near Leon to clean, saddled his horse, got his crossbow and disappeared deep into the woods.

Gwaine watched him leave. He then looked at Elyan. Shockingly serious, he said, “I’ll be eternally in your debt if you would tend to our other horses.” 

Elyan gave him a curious glance but he noticed that Gwaine had already switched from his gracious plea to hard and demanding glares at Thuros, Leon and Lancelot. Not quite as naïve as young Percival, Elyan suspected that the three long-held a secret. No doubt, Gwaine suspected it, too, and the reason that he constantly joked about it. But his time for joking to uncover their secret had come to an end. Gwaine now wanted answers and he was ready to demand them. Elyan nodded while he rose. He figured that Gwaine had earned the right to know after publicly humiliating himself. Granting him his wish, Elyan left to tend their horses and gather more firewood. 

To the others’ surprise, Thuros rose to leave, too. They looked up at him but he never looked down at them as he slowly nodded, giving Leon and Lancelot permission to answer Gwaine’s demands. Still distraught, he meandered the short distance to the river. Chewing on a straw of grass, he sat on the bank and stared at the water while he tried to sort things out. 

Merlin must be rescued. That much was beyond a doubt. They needed to break the curse of the Sorcerer and the Cock. However, Thuros knew that he wanted no part of Uther Pendragon or his oppressive kingdom. With Merlin at their sides, they could continue to travel the lands as free fighting men and more formidable than ever…

Leon, Lancelot and Gwaine often gazed at him while they quietly conversed. Elyan constantly watched him, too, while tending their horses. Circumstances now dictated that Thuros become their unofficial leader. Whatever he decided, they would give him their full support.

Lancelot continued to speak and in his soft and subdued voice. “…some are ill-disposed to nuts,” he said. “Others, to fish and some even die from bee stings. We simply assumed that Thuros had a similar aversion to, um, women. More aptly put, to sex. Vaguely did we suspect him to be cursed. But today in the bailey, that prospect was greatly enhanced by his stark resemblance to Uther Pendragon. Still, we cannot be absolutely certain. Only Merlin can prove positive that he is the prince of Camelot.”

Gwaine scrunched his face, wrinkling his red nose at the concept. “So, Thuros is indeed sexually damned,” he asked.

"Gwaine," Leon cautioned him, again. He then explained the quandary in milder terms. “While none can approach Merlin, as evidenced in the bailey, today," he said, "Thuros can approach no others. Not an easy affliction to handle and the reason that I constantly caution you to leave him be. You may have found yourself on the end of his sword but never knew why.”

“I see,” he said. “And the reason that Lancelot often placates to drop the subject, as well.” A wicked grin suddenly flashed across his face. He had no intentions of dropping the subject. “Like my humiliation, today, Thuros is always humiliated,”

“Gwaine.”

"and a virgin, after all,"

"Gwaine."

"and truly does mistake Percival, and now, Merlin for wenches."

"Gwaine!"

Thuros heard the old familiar cautioning tone. He dropped his head. No doubt, Gwaine still found humor in his plight. Rising with a sigh, he returned to their camp. They had other urgent matters to discuss. Mainly, how to free a warlock who did not wish to be freed. Elyan heard Leon's old cautioning tone, too, and assumed the same. Finished watering and feeding their horses, he returned, bringing firewood. 

Through the trees, distant campfires were springing up all around them. More young men, arriving for a chance to inherit a kingdom. On a nearby forest trail, they saw other young men leaving. Most of them had red painted noses.

After Thuros and Elyan sat, Lancelot started to speak. In his mind, rescuing Merlin was already decided. “We’re in luck,” he said. “The old man who tended Merlin in the bailey, today, is the court physician, Gaius. Hunith said that he may be trusted but beware. It was Gaius who accompanied the king to help bring Merlin to Camelot. Tomorrow, I will petition entry into the castle with an ailment. That should give me the opportunity to talk with him and find out more. If Gaius can indeed be trusted, he may fare better to convince Merlin that his humiliation and sacrifice is now in vain.” 

Leon and Elyan nodded their approval as Gwaine said, “Once we’ve rescued Merlin, the choice belongs to Thuros whether he wishes to know his father or claim his inheritance.”

Thuros sat, listening to his companions. Overwhelmed with emotions, again, he didn’t need to ask them for help. They were already giving it to him.

 

 

Gaius was not in the habit of trusting total strangers who came to his door with claims of knowing Prince Arthur. However, the mildmannered and softspoken young man told him far too much to be ignored. To see the alleged prince for himself, Gaius left in the early dawn hour and with his medical bag as his guise. He ventured into the forest to meet Lancelot at the river, as they agreed. Lancelot then led Gaius to their campsite. No one was there. 

Well trained fighting men, the mercenaries circled the forest to ensure that no one had followed Gaius. When convinced that all was clear, they returned to their camp. As Thuros walked in, Gaius’ infamous brow rose almost to his hairline. He found the resemblance to a younger Uther startling but even more, he saw a fair share of Ygraine. After a long conversation with the young man presented to him as Prince Arthur, Gaius considered it well worth the risk to his own life to help them rescue Merlin.

 

After devising their plan, Gaius left quickly for his chambers and then he went immediately below the castle, deep within the dungeons. “Your meddling caused this tragedy,” he chastised the great dragon. Still convinced that Kilgharrah planted the seed in Uther's mind, he scolded, "You told Uther where to find the warlock!"

Kilgharrah countered, “I considered my 'meddling' a necessary interference to save Albion from the witch, Morgana, as I’m sure that you consider necessary the reason that you come to me, now, and not merely to scold.”

Gaius took a step backward from the old dragon's wisdom. It was true. He did come for what he considered a necessary reason. “Give the young warlock back his powers,” he insisted. 

“Then free me, that I may accomplish this task for you,” he slyly replied.

“No,” Gaius huffed. “Your fate has always been in the warlock’s hands. Which you are well aware. I will not interfere with your destiny as you’ve chosen to interfere with the prince and the warlock’s. I need only your power in this file,” he said as he placed the small piece of metal on the ground and stepped back. “You’d be wise to grant my wish.”

Kilgharrah thought it wise, too. Without the young warlock, he was bound to die chained in Uther Pendragon’s dungeons. He needed Merlin freed, as well. Inhaling first, he blew his breath giving Gaius the magic to file the thin gold bracelet from the young warlock’s wrist.

 

 

Bathed in moonlight and shadows, the courtyard sat eerily deserted. Only four knights stood sentry. Two on each side of the gate. The large doors remained locked against the hundreds of strangers in the lower town with every other knight and guard of Camelot policing the thoroughfares to keep the peace, herd drunks back into the woods and look for red-noses. No red-noses were found. Not after Uther executed one before the cockshow started, that day. 

Near the ten bells of night, Gaius and Guinevere eased into the courtyard, as usual, to retrieve Merlin from the stocks. As usual, the same angry knight now reduced to guard duty called out to Guinevere. "Wench, fetch us water from the well.” As usual, Guinevere rushed. But tonight, she dropped a strong sedative from Gaius into their water pail. 

Once the knights succumbed, she struggled to open the gates with hopes that the mercenaries had fulfilled their part of the plan. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the other two knights slumped in the shadows against the outside wall. The mercenaries hovered near them, waiting and anxious to come inside. 

Lancelot entered first. He could not resist the sensuous glow on her relieved face, bathed in the brilliant moonlight. He approached her, took her hand and with a gracious head bow, he said, “thank you, my lady,” before he kissed it. The closing door snapped both out of their infatuated trances and they started running along with the others from the gates toward the stocks. 

Gaius busily filed away at the wristlet on Merlin's arm. But while he filed, he whispered near the top of his head. “You must leave,” he pleaded, desperate to convince him. “To stay, is now fruitless. The prince has already been found. He’s here. In the courtyard, this very moment. Coming to rescue you.” 

Gaius paused and looked over the stocks to ensure that Arthur ran toward them with the rest. As Gaius squinted in the moonlight, Merlin’s head started to move in another frantic search. However, he could not see those who ran toward him. 

Within several feet of Merlin’s still exposed backside, Arthur abruptly stopped. And stared. He felt an awakening deep within his loins that had eluded him his entire life. Magic. The curse of Nemueh. However, he could not resist the power that brought him closer and closer until he stood hovering and leaning over Merlin’s back. 

As Arthur hovered, he needed to touch Merlin. He needed to make love to him. The powerful need made him rest his loins against his backside. In the glow of the bluish moonlight, it made him rub against Merlin, desperate for entry. Suddenly, Arthur started to utter against the curse that controlled him. “No. Not like this," he said. "Not here. Not this way. Not like this…" 

With both hands touching Merlin and rubbing gently at his back, Arthur tried to lower his tunic. He continued to utter, “Not here. Not like this…” 

Gaius busily filed away again while looking over the stocks into Arthur face. He opened his mouth to explain that Merlin refused to leave, when Merlin started begging in his own desperate desire. “Please. Now. Do it, now,” he pleaded in a voice reduced to near tears. “I must know for certain that you are Prince Arthur. Please, I want no doubts.”

“But not like this,” Arthur insisted and with his last strength, he pulled away. To Gaius, he quickly said, “You promised a key for these ankle locks.” He looked to Gaius, expecting him to provide the key but Guinevere rushed up to him. “Yes,” she said, taking the key from her skirt pocket. “Here it is.” 

All the while, Merlin continued to beg, " Please. Now. I must know for certain."

Arthur practically snatched the key from her hand. In torment, he quickly knelt at Merlin’s legs. Guinevere stood gazing down into his strained face. She listened to Merlin’s desperate pleas while she watched Arthur’s tremendous willpower to refuse them. She then saw his willpower strained to its limits. With the side of his misshapen and agonized face, he started nuzzling Merlin’s hip, kissing and sliding his face along its smooth surface. Closer and closer, he inched toward the pulsing center that pleaded for entry. He could feel Merlin's buttock tremble; could feel his muscles throb. With his eyes glistening tears in the moonlight, Arthur uttered, again, to the damned curse. “Not like this. Not here. No.” He managed to pull away yet again.

Guinevere stood astounded by his willpower. Day after day, she had watched the other young men approach Merlin with lust in their hearts. Lust for a kingdom. She now witnessed the one person who could inherit it all, the one person cursed to have Merlin but was denying magic, itself. So astounded, Guinevere started easing backward into the shadows to where the others stood. Arthur Pendragon was the most noble man that she had ever seen. She eased back because she grew frightened, aware that she was falling in love with such a noble man.

In his majestic effort, Arthur removed the ankle chains just as Gaius removed the wristlet and the wood from Merlin's neck and hands. But Merlin would not move. He continued to beg, “Please. I must be certain that you are Prince Arthur. Please, prove it, now. Please.”

The others stood in the shadows with swords drawn. Leon shouted in a whisper from his distance. “Thuros, hurry! We must leave!”

Gaius tried to move Merlin but he would not be moved. The old man suddenly realized what Merlin demanded. “Arthur, he gives you no choice," he insisted. "He will not leave until you claim your rights to the throne.”

“No,” he protested. “I wish no part of this kingdom or Uther Pendragon.” He stood, furrowing at Merlin’s back. 

In the distance, Leon called, again, “Thuros, we must hurry!”

Noises suddenly clicked, echoing in the square. The sounds frightened them all, until they realized the source. Ankle chains, snapping back into place. The stocks suddenly closed again, too. Merlin then pleaded, through his tears. “Camelot needs you, Arthur.”

Fists balling in his anger and anguish, Arthur demanded, “And what concern have you for Camelot? A kingdom that would see you dead. That kills all of your kind! I care nothing for this place.”

“But you will,” Merlin sobbed out. 

“Thuros, hurry!”

Merlin continued to begged him. Through open sobs, he begged for all the innocent people of magic. He begged for Abion. He begged for their shared future. But most of all, he begged for himself. He had been through far too much. Day after day, he had managed to stay calm and still when all the while his mind screamed to the gods that the next person who approached him would be Arthur. Or, the next. Caught in an endless torment, he felt the same troubling sensations, the same sickening letdown that Arthur still had not come. But now, his frayed emotions told him that Arthur was here, at last. In the quiet stillness under a moonlit night, he could wait no longer. But a vulnerability that he would not admit, he pleaded, again. "Camelot needs you, Arthur."

“No,” he uttered, again. He wanted no part of Uther Pendragon's kingdom. In his anguish, he buried his face into Merlin’s back. “No,” he uttered constantly, but he heard a desperation that exceeded his own. Merlin was giving him no choice. Merlin was fighting him when his own willpower was fleeting. He rubbed his face along his back in a third monumental effort to pull away when suddenly all willpower left him. Arthur felt it slip away. No longer in control, he fumbled in his desires, nearly ripping open his trousers. “Forgive me,” he pleaded through free-flowing tears. Left shaking in his efforts to lubricate Merlin with pre-cum dripping heavily from himself and with a forceful push controlled by magic, the curse and their combined desires, he went deep inside him. 

Both moaned in an ecstasy that released energy into the bailey and caused the others to look around from their en guard positions deep in the shadows. They stared at what seemed a magical glow surround the stocks as Arthur's hips started to move in an undeniable rhythm, proving his claim to the throne. They then forced their eyes to look away to offer them some degree of privacy. Still, they heard Arthur and Merlin struggle to contain their cries as they shared a legendary bliss in each other that went far beyond curse or space or time.

Thuros was truly the missing prince. An honorable man, Merlin innately knew that Arthur would return tomorrow and before Uther Pendragon and all in the crowded bailey, he would accept his right to inherit Camelot.


	7. LengfeiLee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the courtyard of Camelot, Arthur claims his rightful inheritance to the throne.

The knights guarding the gates recovered first groggy then frantic but finding the gates still locked and themselves smelling of strong liquor, they grew more frantic. Racking their brains to recall the last people they saw, the old court physician, the young maidservant and the warlock loomed large. One knight rushed to the dungeons. When he found the warlock still in ankle chains, a thin gold ban on his wrist and an empty dinner plate beside the bed that Gaius petitioned the king, the knights decided it wiser to remain silent and make no report. By the smell of them and with such a ridiculous tale to tell, they suspected that the king would conclude them drunk on duty, after all. 

The mercenaries were long gone. 

So was the old gold wristlet. Replaced by a similar gold ban from Morgana’s massive jewelry chest. The frightful little trinket was tossed into the river along with hundreds that preceded it. 

In the dead of night, Arthur continued to sit on the bank and stared at the water sparkling with small speckles of moonlight. The others sat around their campfire and often watched his shadowy form. Proof positive, Thuros was the missing prince of Camelot. Uther Pendragon was indeed his father. All wondered if Thuros, um, Arthur would now claim his rightful inheritance as Merlin had demanded of him.

As Arthur sat, he contemplated his life. Kidnapped from the crib, he surmised that Nimeuh had selected the old midwife who raised him. Nadia was probably a witch, too, he now concluded. A kind and well-learned old woman, perhaps she knew that she groomed a prince. Reading, writing, mathematics, philosophy, poetry, the art of warfare and even basic swordsmanship, she taught him. Above all, she instilled honor and to always do what he knew in his heart to be right. The same year that she died, he met Leon. A few months later, Lancelot. Within three years, their close-knit group was formed and all contributed to helping the other survive. They not only survived but grew to be the best fighting men in all the lands. Mainly, through constant swordplay with each other.

Arthur knew that he would not give them up for all the kingdoms and riches in the world. Nor would he give Merlin up, he now knew in his heart as he finally rose and returned to camp. In contrast to the small fires spread around them, his companions watched his countenance now sat ablaze. Arthur positively glowed against their firelight. In his eyes gleamed a life herald in twenty years of sonnets and song. Gwaine saw the need to break their awkward stares at him. With a smile, he said, “The pity, I missed your legendary humping.” 

“Gwaine.”

“Which I heard, bathed the bailey in your zeal."

“Gwaine.”

“Now, that would have been worth the risk of execution to witness.” He continued to ignore Leon’s cautions. “No doubt, a magnificent first endeavor to leave you with such a lofty glow. Thank the gods that Merlin has removed that perpetual scowl from your face and I take it, your highness, that you will return tomorrow for a repeat performance to claim your throne,” he asked. 

Leon didn’t caution him, this time. All had been wondering the answer to that question. As Arthur reclined and covered himself with his blanket, he simply said, “We must rise bright and early. Now that the curse is broken, I cannot afford to let another approach Merlin, since all may now succeed,” he surmised.

They sat staring at Thuros. The prospect never occurred to them. It would become a wretched cockfest, indeed, and very violent, if all others who now tried could penetrate the warlock. They started to recline for sleep, too, aware that Thuros was far more worried for Merlin than claiming an inheritance to a kingdom. 

 

Uther stood on his balcony while gazing out over the crowd packed into his bailey, again. No red-noses to execute that day, he praised his knights and guards for their tireless efforts. “Order has been restored to Camelot and order will be maintained,” he boasted. To ensure that, he repeated his daily threat to the young men just arriving with dreams of claiming his throne. “All those who complete their attempt with the sorcerer will be escorted beyond my lowertown limits. To return, is upon pain of death.” 

In the silent crowd, a voice suddenly boomed as loud as Uther's, resonating in the courtyard. “The search is over,” the voice proclaimed. “No one else will approach the warlock!”

Uther rifled his eyes though the crowd. “Who said that,” he demanded. Hundreds of heads were turning in the general direction to find the source. With all eyes searching, a wooden barrier separating the crowd from Merlin suddenly tumbled over. Kick aside. Five young men then rushed into the open space before the stocks. One flung his hair from his face, revealing a red nose. With swords drawn, the mercenaries prepared to fend off the knights or anyone else approaching them as a sixth young man entered the circle created by the five. Gasps erupted to watch him walk into the clearing and near the sorcerer. 

The young man stopped and looked up at the king. “Arthur Pendragon,” he announced, loud and bold.

Uther stood, speechless. His heart started to pound and he gripped the baluster for balance. Everyone else stood shocked into silent, too. The resemblance was undeniable.

Arthur felt his own heart quaking, again. After twenty years, he finally stared into the eyes of his father. A hollow stare that Arthur gave him, he cared far more for the man's chained and half-naked captive. Breaking his gaze with Uther, he turned his eyes toward the stocks. The warlock had demanded this ungodly scene. Arthur hoped that one day he would understand why. As he looked at Merlin, fear pounded his heart much harder. He grew frightened, terrified that he now may be the only person in the cockfest who could not penetrate him. However, he had declared himself the missing prince, loud and boastful. Now, he must prove it. 

Arthur went to Merlin. Standing hovered over his backside, he closed his eyes to the maddening task to penetrate him in public. With his eyes closed, his mind cried, again, “not like this,” but he realized that he no longer gave mantra or chant to defy a curse. No magic helped to fuel his desire. No deserted bailey under the cover of night. No privacy from friends looking away while standing guard in distant shadows. He faced the harsh reality of daylight with hordes of strangers watching him and all ready to jeer loudest or laugh hardest if he did not succeed.

As Arthur leaned over his backside, his worst fear was being realized. His flesh still in his trousers, it refused to rise. In efforts to make it rise, he started rubbing Merlin’s back underneath his tunic. He hoped that the physical contact would draw an ample spark to make him rigid enough to penetrate him. But his feelings for Merlin were far too private and far too great for such a hideous public display. Since the first instant that he saw Merlin, since the very moment that his heart wept, he had fallen in love with him… 

“Arthur," came a pleading whisper. ”Arthur, you must concentrate on me," Merlin begged. "Clear your mind and think only of me."

Arthur had been thinking only of him. The words caused his eyes to open to the harsh reality surrounding them but he did not see reality, at all. He saw what his own mind yearned to have. A field of wild grass. Little lavender, white and yellow blooms covered the grounds as far as the eye could see. The air smelled sweet with the clean grass fragrance as warm gentle breezes caressed his naked body. In the midst of the field, he sat upon a blanket. Before him, Merlin lay writhing in a desperate and almost painful need. “Please, Arthur, make me feel whole," he begged. "Please make me feel whole.” The words fell continuously from his lips as his deep blue eyes gazed up through heavy lashes and spoke a love destined to last throughout the ages. 

The crowd was getting impatient and the young men standing in line near the knights were growing louder and angrier. Several knights started to move forward, approaching the stocks, again. In defense, the mercenaries brandished their swords, twirling and flicking their wrists to give the knights a taste of their skills when Arthur suddenly removed his painfully swollen flesh from his trousers. On their blanket in the midst of wildflowers in their minds, he leaned over Merlin and started to kiss him. While they kissed, he slowly guided himself. The instant he came in touch with Merlin’s warm and inviting center held high off the blanket by his parted legs and strong thighs, Arthur felt his muscles first pulse and then relax to allow him entry. Both started with gentle rotations against each other. Using precum as lubrication, they tenderly felt their way. Inching deeper with each slight turn, they gave one final rotation and then they went still. Completely joined. 

To the watching crowd, the penetration was swift. Everyone erupted in cheers and applauds, bringing Arthur and Merlin back from their blanket of wildflowers, gentle breezes and tender rotations to the harsh reality of the bailey. Quick to withdraw, Arthur turned from the crowd and stuffed his softening flesh back inside his trousers. 

Uther was ecstatic. He paced alongside the baluster with thoughts to jump over the rail and down onto the cobblestones. But a major folly no doubt, he hurried inside and soon emerged from a door below. The crowd instantly parted as he rushed toward his son. Once in the clearing and surrounded by the mercenaries on one side and the knights on the other, Uther grabbed Arthur in a tight embrace. “My son,” he cried into Arthur’s neck to hide his emotions. Kings didn’t cry. “At last, I have found my son,” he cried.

Arthur stood weakly reciprocating when the sheer power of the embrace made him realize that the man holding him was his flesh and blood. His father. Despite all that he had heard, Uther Pendragon was still a man capable of love and affection for his son. Arthur turned his face and glanced at Merlin as understanding started to filter to him. Merlin was far wiser than he knew. Maybe in time, he would come to know just how wise. Until then, he held his father tighter and vowed to offer him honor and respect. Love must be earned and he whispered in his father’s ear. “I will not remain in Camelot without my companions or Merlin at my side,” he spoke for the people who had already earned his love.

Uther suddenly held him away from his body. A crease lowered his brow. But looking into his son’s face, he felt overwhelmed by a happiness that soared his once broken spirit. Laughing in his joy, he wrapped an arm across Arthur’s shoulders and started walking him back toward the castle door. “A matter open for discussion,” he said. But in the meantime, he ordered a nearby knight, “Provide those men with shelter and send Gaius to fetch the warlock.” 

As they walked shoulder to shoulder toward the castle door, Morgana quietly closed her window. Alone in her room, she threw a witch’s tantrum that cracked all of her mirrors. Enraged to sobs and tears, she cursed the gods that be.


	8. Gaining Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An overwhelmed Arthur seeks to regain control of his life.

Dragon crests and ivory towers, noble knights with poise and power, abundant wealth that knew no sum, Arthur Pendragon was the rightful heir to such a kingdom. But Thuros, the mercenary, still wanted no part. After a day of tours and introductions, he felt overwhelmed. Overwhelming him more was the young woman that Uther presented as his ward. Her smiling words greeted him with sweetness but her eyes seemed destined to kill him. 

They struck up an instant banter and deep down, not nearly as playful as it seemed.

Then, there were Uther’s elders. A bunch of stuffy old ‘yes-men.’ Arthur much preferred the crude honesty of Gwaine, the compassionate understanding of Lancelot. He needed Leon’s wise perspective, Elyan’s charitable sharing and Percival’s quiet utility. But most of all, he yearned a proper acquaintance with Merlin. As Gwaine had so crudely put, splitting wide a chained backside was hardly a decent introduction.

Two locations in the large castle Arthur committed to memory during his exhaustive tours. The court physician’s quarters and the guess tower. Those two locations held his friends. After dining at the royal supper table with food for thirty but seated three, he forced himself to say, “Father,” for the first time. “I wish to check the status of my companions,” he asked but before the king could answer, he was already standing and leaning toward an exit. “Good night, sire. Morgana,” he said as he hurried out. 

The mercenaries had a hallway all to themselves. Arthur heard their honest laughter drift down the corridor. He stood a moment and listened to their cherished sounds. All were gathered in one room but they boasted of whose room was largest or which had the best view of the sun setting. But a meaningless boast, Arthur knew that they would pile into the same room when they slept that night. 

Plenty of food but refrained from drink in a ruthless king’s castle, excitement still tickled their senses. Gwaine exited into the hallway and saw him first. “Princess,” he greeted, smiling. “A luxury that I can become too easily accustomed so I wonder, when will we be given the old heave-ho,” he asked.

Giving nevermind to the new nickname like Gwaine's old jokes to goad information, Arthur hesitated for another reason. He had no answer for Gwaine and he simply repeated the king's words. “Still a matter for discussion,” he said. “But rest assured. After my day of bowing nobles and servants, alike, I’ll be in your company, wherever it may lead.” 

Leon exited next while hearing Arthur’s reply. “A matter for discussion, indeed,” he insisted. “You can’t possibly refuse your inheritance for our sake.” His words brought the others rushing faster into the corridor. They found Leon furrowing as he fussed. “We’ve fought together in many unjust battles,” he said to Arthur. “Once you become ruler of the most powerful of the five kingdoms, you’ll have opportunity to change these lands.”

Lancelot quickly nodded, agreeing with Leon. “Merlin has sacrificed himself, tremendously, to afford you this opportunity. Before you make rash decisions, I suggest that you speak with him about it. Have you had chance to be alone with him, yet,” he asked, and with an understandingly dual message for his once sexually damned companion. 

To Lancelot’s intended meaning, they watched the fire set ablaze in Arthur’s eyes, again. But no comparison to the heat he felt rushing to his cock, he barely managed an apt reply. “I do owe him a proper introduction,” he said and without hesitation, he left. 

“Gwaine!”

“What,” he asked Leon in an innocent voice. “I uttered not a word, this time.” 

 

Gaius formally greeted, “Prince Arthur,” but reserved his head bow, which he considered a symbol of earned respect. Arthur understood. He already knew that Gaius was no one’s ‘yes-man.’ Not after Gaius had risked his own life to help them try to rescue Merlin. Arthur greeted, “Gaius,” with a respectful head bow, himself, acknowledging his courage to defy his king. 

“Merlin is anxious to see you,” Gaius said, confident that Arthur yearned a proper introduction with him, as well. Both virile young men incapable of making love, until now, he was certain that they wanted to make up for lost time. A vial on his work table, he retrieved it while offering an excuse to leave. “The king prefers his muscle draft after his dinner,” he said. “I best take it to him.” With a glance toward the closed door atop the steps giving Arthur his direction, he quickly and quietly left.

Arthur stood a moment while gazing about the premises. Fascinating quarters, it spoke volumes of an old man’s life work. A wise and courageous man, Arthur saw Gaius as a reason to remain in Camelot along with the compassionate young woman, Guinevere. But not nearly reason enough to replace his longtime friends, he concluded, when he heard Merlin call out, “Arthur.”

He hesitated. A persuasive young warlock, Merlin had already made him claim an identity that he did not want. He now feared that Merlin could make him stay in Camelot and without his companions or even himself at his side. 

“Arthur,” he called, again.

As Arthur stood in hesitation, something occurred to him. Something, about Merlin. Something that no curse dictated. If need arose, Arthur would use that something to take control of his own decisions, again. Steadfast and resolved, he finally ascended the steps and opened the door. 

Merlin sat propped in his little bed. Setting sunrays upon his face revealed that he had slept for hours. A long and needed slumber, he looked well rested after chained and in the stocks with his backside exposed for all to see, day after day. One word, Arthur said. One question, he asked.

“Why?” 

Merlin stared at him with confusion on his sunlit face. He had already answered that question. In the bailey under the moonlight, he told Arthur why he subjected himself to such humiliation and abuse. But looking at Arthur’s resolved jawline, he felt the need to answer him, again. “Gaius believes that you are an honorable man and I do, too,” he said. “You needed to claim your rightful inheritance.” 

Arthur shook his head. He rejected his answer as he came closer to the bed. The rejection brought a deeper confusion to Merlin’s face. In his heart, he knew that Arthur was honorable. He also knew that Arthur needed to be king of Camelot, someday. But since those answers did not suffice, he offered him another valid reason. With cautious words, he said, “Your father has waged a one-sided war against a lot of my kind. Once you become king, I believe that all peaceful people of magic will no longer have cause to fear Camelot.”

Arthur shook his head rejecting that answer, as well. All the while, he inched closer to the bed. Merlin was becoming unnerved. Thinking hard, he remembered more of Gaius’ words and he offered yet another reason. Albion. “As king, you'll have a chance to change all the lands and make them better for everyone.” 

Standing at the foot of his bed, Arthur shook his head again as he gazed down into his face. The blaze in his eyes reignited, along with the burning desire in his loins. Again, he insisted, “Why?”

Merlin broke their eye connection. No longer could he look at Arthur. Obvious to him, now, Arthur knew why. Arthur knew the truth. But the truth was the last shred of dignity that Merlin had. The last vestige of himself. Without it, he would be completely vulnerable to Arthur. Yet, Arthur was forcing his vulnerability. Arthur was making him say why. Why he had been a cockwatcher since he could remember. Why he had engaged hordes of men in the dark of night and hundred more in the broad daylight. Why he had allowed himself to be publicly humiliated, day after day…

Both knew the reason was not Albion or honor or saving people of magic or even claims to a kingdom. Those were secondary motives. Powerful reasons but still secondary. Sunlight glistening his tears as he locked eyes with Arthur again, Merlin finally admitted the truth. He told Arthur why. “I did it for me," he said. "I did it because I had to find you. I did it because I need you."

Arthur nodded at him, this time. “I know,” he whispered to hear him say in reality the words spoken in their shared pretend. On a blanket in a field of wildflowers in their minds, Merlin had given him the truth. Merlin had shown how much he yearned for him and that yearning blazed Arthur’s soul. The black lizardskin vest went first, followed by his leather trousers and underpants. Then searching insatiably, Arthur reached beneath the blanket. He found sleeping breeches, grabbed hold and yanked, pulling them off. The force pulled Merlin from his prop. Over the footrail, Arthur dropped to his knees and started crawling up his body…

Merlin grabbed hold and pulled him faster. Hands clutching Arthur by his tunic, he pulled until Arthur’s knees rested wedged under his thighs. The wedge tilted his hips upward and spread his legs wide. Both breathing heavily, Arthur slowed their pace as he gazed down into Merlin’s yearning and heavily-lid eyes. A smile on his face, he said, “Hello. My friends call me Thuros. But you may have heard others call me Arthur Pendragon.”

Merlin laughed aloud. His first honest laughter since undertaking his search to find Arthur, he said, “I’m Merlin. I have magic.” 

Arthur laughed with him as he whispered, again. “I know.” He then leaned and planted their first true kiss. A gentle peck of introduction, he said, “I believe that we share a legend, you and I.”

“We do,” he asked with fake surprise.

“In this legend,” Arthur said, “I believe that you are a sorcerer and I am a cock. Countless tales have been told, honoring us. I’ve heard them, myself, in taverns throughout the kingdoms and in a few noble home that I’ve had occasion to solicit wage.” 

Merlin apologized for his ignorance. “I’m sorry," he said. "But we have no taverns in Ealdor. No noble homes, either.” He strained his neck and planted their second kiss. “What do they say about us in this legend,” he asked as he reclined his head and gazed up at Arthur through his heavily yearning eyes, again. 

The blanket scrunched between them, Arthur removed it and placed his hand underneath Merlin’s white sleeping tunic. Upon his chest, he spread his fingers over his heart. “They say that once the king finds his son, the curse will be broken.” As he spoke, he slowly slid his hand from his heart and down his body. 

Merlin could barely speak to feel his fiery touch. Panting with anticipation, he said, “I believe that we both know that the legend is mostly a myth.” 

“I know,” he whispered, again. “Our shared vision in the courtyard, today, told me as much.” He continued his slow slide until his palm trailed over his erection resting on his abdomen. “No curse revealed to me your deepest wishes,” he said as he stopped his hand when his index finger reached his seeping head. Gently worrying the slit with his finger, he added, “Nor did a curse continue to throb and relax your muscles for me." 

Merlin gasped out his words in uneven breaths. “Arthur, I was born this way,” he told his last vulnerability. “I was born to serve only you.”

“I know,” he whispered again as he slowly leaned and planted another kiss. He continued his new mantra as he coated him with the precum collected on his finger and then guided himself against his muscles that pulsated and relaxed again to receive him. “I know,” he whispered as he watched Merlin’s eyes flutter and his body arch off the bed to feel himself being slowly filled. “I know,” he whispered as he reclined with his forearms at Merlin's sides and resumed their kisses. He then engaged his pelvis in long and deliberate strokes. Again and again, he answered Merlin's need to feel whole. 

As Arthur made him whole, he spoke near his ear. Taking control of his life, again, he said, “I will not stay here without you.” 

“I know,” he whispered.

 

Gaius stood behind the king and kneaded some of the stiffness from his arthritic shoulder. A powerful swordsman in his own youth but age was taking its toll on Uther Pendragon. Alone with the king in his royal chambers, Gaius felt comfortable enough to lead their conversation. “You seem quiet, sire, when the day’s events seem more cause for celebration.”

Uther hesitated to speak. The old man’s constant petitions for a sorcerer in his kingdom left him unnerved. However, he knew that Gaius’ love for Camelot almost matched his own. After a moment, he shared his concerns with Gaius. “Hundreds of young men come seeking to inherit my kingdom and yet my son seems to want no part of it,” he admitted, regretfully. 

As always, Gaius offered his wise counsel. “The boy needs time, Uther,” he said. “I’m certain that he feels overwhelmed, at the present. Only natural for a young man free to travel wherever his heart leads him now feels burdened by such heavy responsibilities.”

Uther snorted at his diplomacy. “And what do you petition from me, now, Gaius,” he asked, after decades of familiarity. 

“Only what is best for Camelot,” he replied, truthfully. “At the moment, that entails what is best for the young prince. In all the world, he has only his friends. If you try to take his current world and replace it with yours, I’m confident that he will not stay. Allow him his companions. I suggest, the title of nominal or honorary knights, assigned only to his authority and not to your kingdom, since true knights must be of noble birth…”

Uther rubbed at his stiff shoulder while considering the suggestion. “Go on,” he insisted. 

“As for the warlock,” Gaius said, but treaded carefully. “Your subjects know that you are victorious over magic. You have conquered the sorcerer and suppressed his power with your wristlet. He is no longer a threat to you or to anyone else. Subjugate him further to prove your authority to your people while allowing him to remain close to the prince. After all, they do share a legend. I suggest that you make him Arthur’s manservant.” 

“And you believe that these concessions will encourage my son to remain in Camelot,” he asked.

“Indeed, I do, sire,” he readily answered.

Uther knew that Arthur had already insisted upon the same compromise and he said, “I'll present your proposals as my own to Arthur, tonight.”

“Sire,” Gaius quickly spoke up, again. “I believe that he’s had enough activity for one day. I suggest that you allow him a good night’s rest.”


	9. Harvest Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic causes a major rift between Merlin and Arthur.

His clothes floated into his chest of drawers. His books, boots and candles levitated back to their normal places. His bed made itself… Arthur often walked into his chambers to find Merlin wielding his unfettered power. He walked in, again, just as Merlin lowered and kneeled over an ash bucket. The heavy pail clicked on the floor at the same time that Arthur opened the door. Merlin never heard the door open. Before Arthur could speak, huge flames erupted in the fireplace, several meters from Merlin. Arthur cuffed him on the head.

“Ow!” He yelped from the unexpected pain as he whirled his face to find the cause. 

Arthur stood glaring down in anger. “I said, no more of that,” he demanded. 

“But I scooped out the ashes by hand, this time,” he defended while rubbing the back of his head.

Arthur glared harder. “That’s no excuse,” he scolded. “Had I been a maidservant bringing a fresh pitcher of water,” he stopped and glanced around at his door before whispering the rest. “You’d be wishing for that water while burning on a pyre.”  
.  
“Sorry,” he said.

“You were sorry the last ten times,” Arthur countered. “If I catch you doing it, again,” he stopped, glanced about and then whispered his threat. “I’ll retrieved another of those wristlets from the vaults. Dozens more are down there.”

Merlin stared up at him through narrowing and doubtful eyes. His thoughts raced to think how a worthless warlock could protect the future king of Albion. With doubt already furrowing his face, he started to sway his head. It would be impossible... 

Arthur mistook his doubt for defiance. “Don’t test me, Merlin,” he warned. 

“But I wasn’t testing you,” he tried to explain. At the same time, he was impressed to hear the command authority from the former mercenary. Arthur sounded like a prince to him. Arthur sounded like his father. 

“Not one more time,” he ordered and then he repeated his words. “Not one more time,” he said. It was now an ultimatum. He wanted Merlin to be absolutely clear and he said them, again. “Not one more,” he shouted, done with the whispering and then he stormed back out. 

Arthur stormed out because he forgot why he entered. The old mercenaries’ motto entered his mind, instead. ‘Never let them see your fear,’ the old mercenaries said, before each battle. And right now, Arthur was terrified. His father was worse than rumor had. Uther Pendragon was practically mad. A week as Camelot’s new prince, Arthur discovered that the king was crazed by the mere mention of the word, witchcraft. His father was hell-bent on killing anyone with magic. 

And Merlin was careless. 

The combination scared Arthur half to death. He tried to hide his fear but he knew that he fought a war. His sword was useless in his fight. Silence was his only weapon. Whispering, sneaking and hiding, he waged an epic war with silly silence as his arsenal and for so great a stake. Merlin’s life.

Arthur stormed out because he felt anguished, as well. He felt a total despair. He had made a bargain with his father-- had given his word that he would stay. Now, his love for Merlin must be sacrificed to save his life. A casualty of war left dying on the battlefield, Arthur knew that it would gasp its last breaths when he forces Merlin back to Ealdor or fetters his magic, again. But he saw no choice. Not with his constant carelessness. 

He had just given Merlin his ultimatum. 

 

 

 

Her grace contradicted the rough wrought irons hanging from rafters and the big burnt smelting bin in the sooty little shop. Fascination filled their faces to see her actually forging. She made keys when not tending Uther’s ward. She made them gracefully, at that. Her words were gracious, too, when she said, “I feel it only fair to inform you. The royal artisans should prepare your first set of armor and at no charge. My father would need at least a fortnight to complete your large order.”

Lancelot spoke up with a slight stutter in his efforts to conceal the truth. The royal artisans refused to service nominal knights, unless directed by the king. They chose not to burden Arthur with their problem. He seemed knee-deep in worry already with his unrestrained warlock. Lancelot offered her another reason for coming to their shop. “We’ve heard that here is where we’ll get the best craftsmanship,” he said. 

Guinevere appeared skeptical to believe him. Her father was indeed the best. That much was true. But complete sets of armor cost money. Lots of money. Money that she doubted the honorary knights had. She also doubted if the new prince knew that they had come to her father or would make them pay for their armor or would wait over two weeks for them to have it. 

All noticed her skeptical face and Elyan spoke up to convince her. “We have the time to wait for it,” he said, but his words lacked emphasis. His thoughts were elsewhere. Lost deep in his past, he fumbled over vague memories, again… “We leave tomorrow on a couple of missions,” he explained why they could wait two weeks. “We’ll be gone for close to that length of time.” 

As he spoke, Guinevere seemed to be lost with him. Suddenly, her eyes grew wide. She found their way out of the past, however, she remained skeptical. She could not believe her eyes. In a timid tone too frightened to trust herself, she uttered, “Elyan?” 

His reply sounded like the lost and frightened child that he once was as he asked, “Gwen?” 

She dared to breathe his name, again. “Elyan.” 

“Gwenny,” he pleaded for confirmation on his personal and long forgotten moniker.

Before she could say, “Elyan,” again, they were locked in each other’s arms. And crying. The others watched with tears overtaking their eyes, as well. Like Thuros, Elyan found his family. Hope soared for Leon and Gwaine. Lancelot and Percival, however, were revisiting death. Slaughters they watched when little boys, their families would never be found. The sooty little shop filled with mixed emotions. Happiness, hope and loss permeated the air. 

Overcome with loss, Lancelot and Percival eased out for a while, leaving happiness and hope behind. 

 

 

 

Prince Arthur, his nominal knights and his warlock manservant stood clustered in the courtyard. Traveling rolls and saddlebags at their feet, they dutifully waited to embark upon their journey. Uther, Morgana and several elders took formal position on the steps and waited to bid them leave. All waited for horses to be brought from the stables. With straight faces, the nominals tried to appease the king but they thought that many of his practices were asinine. They considered this one a waste of time. Why wait for horses to be brought from the stables only to ride the horses back by the stables when leaving, they wondered. But without objection, they waited. 

While they waited, Arthur resorted to an asinine measure of his own. To Elyan, he said, “If an order will make you feel better, then, I order you to stay.” 

Guilt on his face, Elyan felt that he was leaving the drudgery to them. “But I should be going with you,” he said and then he quickly added, “sire,” to appease the king, waiting and watching from the steps. 

Leon tried to convince Elyan, too. “Of course you should stay,” he said. “Spend this time to better know your family.”

Percival tried to convince him, as well. He offered Elyan a smile, although ambiguous at best. In an effort to joke like Gwaine, he said. “We’ll survive, just fine. We don’t need you.” His joke failed, miserably. The others gave him a sympathetic glance while wondering if deep down, Percival felt that he might not survive. Obvious in his face, Percival was hurting. 

A compassionate Lancelot noticed it well before the others. Often standing closer to Percival of late, Lancelot rested a casual hand on his shoulder. The youngest of the lot, Percival was also the most emotionally dependent. Thuros and Elyan now had families. No doubt, Percival feared that his emotional blanket was ripping away and he would be left cold and lonely. Lancelot gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze implying that he still would be snugly covered.

Gwaine offered a funnier joke to reassure Percival, too, that they would remain tightly knit. “Elyan,” he said, with a long gaze upon his pleasing features. “A short break from your ugly face will do us all a world of good. Stay. Let it frighten your sister, for a time.” 

“Says Satan's son,” Elyan laughed. He knew the others were right. He should spend the time with his family. Looking the distance at them, he saw that his father needed comforting. Age now on his face, his lips smiled but his eyes still carried the failure to protect his young son. In the chaos of a Samhain celebration, a woman grieving yet another stillborn took Elyan, only to die a year later, leaving him to be raised by her dirt poor husband. The old farmer did his best. Elyan glanced at the king and assumed that he felt the same failure to protect his son.

Fear, not failure, filled Uther’s eyes while he stood on the steps and gazed down at Arthur. The Mercian castle was the last place the prince of Camelot needed to go and with just a handful of honorary knights. Uther was starting to question his son’s wisdom. 

Arthur, however, invoked honor. Cendred had paid them to do a job. Arthur would invoke his father’s honor, as well, to save Merlin. Hunith wanted her son back. Uther promised that she could have him back and with protection. Arthur planned to hold his father to his promise, if Merlin failed his ultimatum…

The horses finally arrived. After formal farewells from the king, Morgana and the elders, they rode out. First, for Ealdor and then, to Mercia. Morgana offered the king some words of comfort. “Sire,” she said. “I’m certain that they’ll be back and will not simply ride off into the sunset.” 

Uther glanced around at her. Hardly words of comfort, she voiced one of his major fears. In his fear, Uther already scheduled a patrol ahead of them, toward Ealdor. If the patrol passed them while returning to Camelot, then he would know for sure that his son rode in that direction. 

 

A day and a half to reach Ealdor and daylight fading, they set up camp for the night. Several grouse shot for dinner while riding, the dead birds lay in a heap by their campfire. Merlin gathered firewood, like he did in Ealdor. He also sat and waited for dinner, like he did in Ealdor.

“Um, Merlin,” Arthur said, and with a point toward the feathered heap with his sword that he sharpened by the fire. “You have five hungry men, here, to feed.”

Merlin looked down at the dead birds. He then looked across the blaze at Arthur. He looked lost.

Gwaine walked toward them after tending his horse. “A pampered child, no doubt,” he teased as he sat beside Merlin on the fallen log. Grabbing a bird, he started plucking its feathers. “See, Merlin, let me show you how it’s done,” he offered. “A lovely mother you have but I need to speak to her about your survival skills.” 

“Thanks for the help,” Merlin said, smiling at Gwaine’s jovial nature when faint rustling in the distance took Arthur’s attention. Through the trees behind Merlin and Gwaine, he saw the red capes and gold crests of a Camelot patrol observing them while riding by. No doubt, assessing if they were bandits. Arthur refocused his vision on Gwaine and Merlin to see if they noticed the patrol, too, when suddenly eyes flashed gold and feathers flew from all of the dead birds. 

Gwaine and Merlin sat laughing and knocking feathers off themselves.

Arthur sat, terrified. He rifled his eyes back through the trees. Thank the heavens, the patrol was moving on.

‘Never let them see your fear.’

Without a word, Arthur rose to get his bedroll. As he walked, he gave another look into the trees. In distant glimpses, he saw the patrol riding farther away. At that moment, Arthur vowed to himself to leave Merlin in Ealdor.

 

 

Hunith insisted that she had food enough. The harvest was just in. But even if she had to dig into her winter reserves, a feast she would prepare for tonight and worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. For today, the mercenaries had brought her son back home to her. Gaius sent her a letter and now they brought him back, safe, sound and… 

No longer a virgin.

She could see the change in his face. The fear and degradation that once weighed heavily upon his features had been lifted. The shame from his sexual excursions into the night that left him sitting quietly slumped in a corner, often battered and hurting, no longer hunched his shoulders. He was finally made whole and that tickled her soul. The five strapping young men now gone into the woods in search of venison to supplement her supper had greeted her for over an hour after bringing him home and not once did she see his searching eyes watch their crotches. Not even Arthur Pendragon, whose crotch obviously made him whole.

She noticed that his words were starkly different, too. They were filled with awe and wonder. He now spoke of friends other than a single Will. He spoke of destiny, of purpose, of belonging… While she labored, preparing her feast, he sat on a bench at their supper table and shared his exciting new life. Listening to him, she soon realized that her feast had a double meaning. It was both a homecoming and a farewell celebration. In her heart, she knew that he had not come home to stay. 

 

“Merlin will be staying,” Arthur announced.

Hunith dropped a dish in her kitchen area. Silence then dropped in the festive little hut. Crowded shoulder to shoulder at the supper table, they all looked at Merlin. He had gone motionless. A final forkful of food in his hand, he stared down at his finished plate.

Arthur gazed across the bone-riddled table at him while leaning back and rubbing at his stomach. The venison had been particularly filling. To Merlin's lowered head, he continued his announcement as if good news to top off a wonderful meal. “My father promised you protection, here. I intend to hold him to his word,” he said with pride for his own tenacity and leadership. 

The others nodded, agreeing with his good news. Leon gave Merlin a congratulatory pat on the knee. “I’m happy to hear,” he said in his relief. “With the bracelet switched, you were facing a pyre should the king discover the deception.”

Gwaine tugged at the false wristlet dangling near Merlin’s hand that still held his fork. “The pity,” he said. “You’ll be sorely missed. But far better to live in Ealdor than die in Camelot.” 

Merlin remained silent. And motionless. He understood Arthur’s decision. However, he understood far more. Arthur was sacrificing their destiny. But above that, Arthur was sacrificing their love. Merlin finally put his fork down and raised his head. In his eyes reflected a true defiance as he vowed, “I won’t let you do it.” 

Arthur swayed. His shoulders hit first against Percival and then against Lancelot. They never noticed. Like Gwaine and Leon, they sat gaping at Merlin. He was choosing to die in Camelot. Hunith stood watching from her kitchen area. Like a mother seeing her son off to war, she was frightened but she nodded to accept his decision. Her son had the courage to fight for his exciting new life. 

However, Arthur was exasperated. He hoped that Merlin would concede, now that he was back with his mother. Arthur stood so abrupt from the table that he almost knocked big Percival off the bench. With an equally defiant glare down at Merlin, he countered, “And nor will I watch you die.” He then stormed out. 

“Arthur,” Merlin called. He sat a moment in his own exasperation. He then rose to follow.

Hunith started to flutter, cleaning up after the feast. The others continued to sit over the venison rib bones while looking at each other. Clear to them, now, they were witnessing the true legend. It was not the Sorcerer and the Cock. 

Outside, In the little village, candle lights glowed from most of the windows. Arthur avoided the homes in his search for solace. The old barn where they once slept stood at the farthest reach of Ealdor. Beyond the barn, wide open fields gave way to the forest. Atop the distant tree line, a harvest moon made its spectacular appearance. Arthur gazed at the gigantic ball rising in the sky after he rounded the barn. The open field seemed to offer him a walk to find his solace. 

He knew that Merlin searched for him and now followed. Judging by the sounds of his breathing and the swoosh of his baggy clothes, Merlin was close and moving fast. Arthur hoped that the field would also offer them a civil conversation. But suddenly the swooshing sounds stopped.

Arthur stopped, too. He turned to find out why. A shadowy figure in the night, Merlin stood frozen beside the old barn. Arthur waited a moment for him to move. When he didn’t, Arthur spoke, low and angry. “Then, you choose to have this conversation, here,” he demanded. 

Merlin remained silent but his breathing grew louder and more ragged. In small movements of his head, he started to take in their surroundings. The old barn was very familiar. He gazed alongside the wooden structure and followed it beyond Arthur to an old drooping alder tree at the far corner of the barn. His gaze continued beyond Arthur again into the open field. For a while, measured by a dozen heartbeats, he rested his eyes in the harvest moon. Ethereal in its glow, it seemed to silently boast its lunatic quality in the cool quiet night. He heard no insects. The little creatures obviously knew when to cower and hide. Merlin finally returned his gaze to Arthur. He spoke in a voice filled with his sorrow and regret. “You have no idea where ‘here’ is, do you,” he asked. “And yet, you come straight to this place.”

The strange behavior captured Arthur and compelled him closer. “This place,” he asked. He could now see Merlin’s teeth. Odd, he was smiling. The smile compelled even him closer and Arthur saw that it was not a smile, at all. It was a grimace. A grossly twisted face that brought forth tears glistening in the moonlight. “Merlin,” he uttered to ask the matter. 

With several more heartbeats to recompose his emotions, he answered, “It’s the place that I often came in search for you.” 

Arthur remained silent. He knew what Merlin meant. The bailey search was image enough. He remembered how quiet and still Merlin stayed as each young man lusting for a kingdom approached him. Not once did he see Merlin make a grossly twisted grimace. Not like now. Ealdor must have far harsher memories for him, Arthur surmised. His anger completely died and his voice lowered in a gentle concern to ask, “Merlin, what happened, here?”

He gave a tearful little snort to recall his traumatic and embarrassing past. Barely audible, he admitted, “I was often beaten, here. But,”

“Beaten,” Arthur repeated between his words, upset to imagine his pain.

“But I was too afraid to use my magic. Too afraid to stop them. Still, I kept bringing them to this place. I kept coming back. I kept searching for you.”

Arthur felt to blame. “Merlin, don’t,” he pleaded for him to stop. “No more.” He wanted to hear no more. “I know the love that I sacrifice. But I know the risk, as well. You’ll die in Camelot.” 

Merlin grimaced, again. “But, Arthur, I was born to serve you. You know that,” he implored his vulnerability. “Why did you make me say how much I need you only to give me up,” he demanded to know.

“Merlin, don’t fight me on his,” he insisted and he started to walk away. The field called out in refuge for him but Merlin would not let him go. He grabbed Arthur by the arm. “If I die in Camelot, then, I die there!” 

“No,” Arthur insisted as he yanked away. Merlin tried to hold on but Arthur was too strong. Despite his strength, Merlin grew determined to make him stay. He rushed in front of Arthur and with both hands, he shoved him backward until his back hit the barn. Merlin pressed his body against him to keep him from leaving. As he pressed into him, he lashed out in his desperation. “I won’t let you do it,” he swore. “I won’t let you choose my life over our love.” 

“And nor will I watch you die,” he countered again, low and gritty while trying to push his away. “Merlin, don’t fight me on this. You’ll die in Camelot and I won’t watch you die,” he insisted but he started to hear a meaningless rambled in his words. Merlin was too close. They were too close. Their heat was like a furnace, hot and fiery and melding them together. 

Merlin started kissing his mouth in his desperation to make Arthur chose love over life. He also grew frantic to forget where he was. He wanted to erase the beatings, the ostracism, the humiliation from his mind. Desperate for Arthur to keep him whole, he begged through his kisses, “Arthur, please. You know that I can’t leave you.”

“Don’t do this,” he pleaded against his lips but found them too soft to relinquish. His kisses were too persuasive. Their fire was too hot. “Merlin, I can’t let my own father kill you or I’ll kill him, too,” he vowed in his weakness. He was crumbling but he couldn’t afford to crumble. Merlin’s life was at stake, his father’s life, a kingdom's fate… 

Arthur’s weakness made him angry. His crumbling infuriated him. In his anger, he grabbed Merlin by his jacket and rolled them, shoving him against the barn, instead. “No,” he snarled inches from his mouth and moved again to leave. But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t leave. Their fire was too hot. Merlin was too hot. Arthur grew incensed. He started taking his anger out on Merlin. Hard and wrathfully, he kissed his soft, curse’ed lips. With vengeful sucks, he left bruises on his porcelain neck and collarbone. The erection that Merlin forced from him, he gave it back, brutally grinding it against him...

“Yes, Arthur, yes,” Merlin moaned for every angry and passionate bruise. “Make me forget this place,” he pleaded. “Make me remember only us, here…”

The moon inched higher in the night while silently boasting its dark dominion. Sunlight, whiles ago, had fled in defeat. Merlin and Arthur seemed to descend into madness. Lunatics, driven by love versus fear. 

Arthur reached for Merlin’s trousers. With angry and passionate hands, he yanked the loose waistband forward over his erection and let the baggy garment drop to ground. The small cloth underneath, Arthur ripped in two and then ripped open his own snakeskin trousers. The cooling autumn air mattered to neither. They were too hot and crazed to notice the weather. Merlin continued to plead for brutality to forget brutality and Arthur was angrily crumbling.

In his anger, Arthur stepped over the trousers binding Merlin’s feet and gave the worrisome garment a forceful kick backward. The force sent Merlin’s feet sliding on the dew. Arthur didn’t care. In his fury, he reached underneath Merlin’s sliding body and grabbed him by his buttocks. Gripping and squeezing in a mighty heave, he lifted him up off the ground and shoved his back against the barn. 

Pleading for his anger, Merlin grabbed him by his shoulders and helped lift himself higher. Holding on, he locked his thighs around his waist. His pleas grew more demanding when Arthur grabbed his cock raised high between them. His body violently jerked to each vicious pump that Arthur gave, forcing more juice from his seeping head. The pumps sent Merlin’s opening into spastic pulses with magnitudes that shook his thighs. 

Arthur felt his shakes. He knew that Merlin was desperate. So was his own anger. It sought revenge for his weakness. Arthur quickly captured pre-cum from both, lubricated his head and placed it at Merlin’s quaking epicenter. With a flex of his knees and a forceful curve of his pelvis, he entered him hard and brutally. Merlin pleaded to have it harder, more brutal. Neither lasted long in their crazed and angry passion. Half a dozen powerful angry thrusts and each spilled his seed. 

They began to settle exhausted in the quiet night. For the longest while, Merlin sat with his back pressed against the old wooden structure and his legs locked around Arthur’s waist. Arthur held his arms about Merlin’s hips and his face buried in his chest. They started to weep, crying together on what had just occurred. With unspoken thoughts, they reached the same conclusion. Both now understood the choice to be made.

The decision was not love versus life, as they had argued. It was something far deeper than they could truly comprehend. Merlin surmised that destiny played a role and yet, he knew that it was something outside the realm of destiny. He had argued for their love. Arthur had argued for his life. Both knew now that it was neither love nor life. It was sanity. Together, they must begin, again, to truly understand the insanity that came with efforts to separate. Neither could argue against that.

Behind the old widespread alder tree, a small crowd had gathered. With mouths ajar or eyes that bulged, they watched by the light of the harvest moon.


	10. Loose Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The legend has come full circle. Returned to the dragon's call, Arthur and Merlin must begin, again.

The small crowd of villagers tipped-toed back toward their candlelit homes while Merlin and Arthur gathered their emotions off the old barn's wall. Across the open field, the trees still whispered in a light rustic breeze, calling out a refuge. They went silently in that direction seeking a fallen limb or two to sit and calmly talk. While they walked, Arthur fumbled with his ripped trousers. He wished that Elyan was there to mend them but the deep dark bruises that he left on Merlin’s neck and collarbones would still herald to Hunith their rough and crazed sex. No hiding that, Arthur sighed as he fumbled with the broken clasp to keep his trousers closed. As he sighed and fumbled, he started to speak. “Merlin,” he exhaled his name, exhaustively. “Until we’ve had chance to understand this madness between us, you must promise me this. Please. No more magic.”

Before Arthur finished his last word, his felt his trousers mend and the clasp close itself while in his fumbling hands. He whirled his face and glared at Merlin. Teeth that he saw by the harvest moonlight now reflected a true smile as Merlin said, “you’re welcome,” to hear him sigh and see him fumble. 

Arthur offered no gratitude. He thought instead that Merlin was hopeless. Maybe warlocks didn’t fear ordinary people… like kings or bandits or anyone else but that was careless thinking, in itself. How could Merlin be “born to serve him,” when dead, Arthur pondered. How could Merlin not see that he was terrified. His father had killed countless people of magic. He could surely kill one more careless warlock and when the warlock least expected it. Even Merlin had to sleep. 

Even Merlin had to sleep…

The thought gave Arthur his solution to save Merlin from himself. Fetter him, again, while he slept.

 

 

News spread throughout the five kingdoms. The prince of Camelot had been found. Disgruntled young men traveling back to their respective lands verified the news. Those left standing in line in the bailey that final day all said, ‘they witnessed with their own eyes the lucky cock that fucked the sorcerer. The legend was dead.’ 

Cendred had heard the news but he never imagined that he now talked to the prince of Camelot. 

Arthur and his nominals made their visit brief. Fearing recognition, some of those disgruntled young men from the courtyard that final day no doubt lived in Mercia. The former mercenaries reported to Cendred while he sat on his throne. They said that Ealdor was no longer encroached upon. Camelot’s knights had all gone. Nor did Uther Pendragon equip a large army for an invasion. But foremost, they told Cendred that the villagers had no knowledge of why the knights besieged Ealdor and then abandoned it, again. Perhaps, Uther Pendragon concluded it foolish to wage war against the wise and savvy king of Mercia, they praised the young egotist. For their praise, Cendred tossed them a few more coins. 

Without delay, they scurried from his kingdom. 

 

 

Arthur was back to his own epic war that he waged with silly silence as his only weapon. Whenever Merlin left his sight, he paced in private or faked in public. ‘Never let them see your fear.’ But the stress was starting to ache his gut. 

Constantly on edge, he often woke to people shouting in his head. “Look!” They all said. “The warlock has his magic back!” Shrilled women and husky knights and little children, alike, all cried out, “Look!,” as they pointed for all to see. “The sorcerer has been set free!”

Then, there were words that haunted him even when awake. His father’s booming voice would say, “The warlock will be burned at the stake!” 

Arthur was fed up. It was time to fetter Merlin, again. A plan without honor, but his honor was already dead. A casualty in his silent war, it had been stepped on and crushed into the battlefield by his deception, whispering, sneaking and lies… 

All love between them would be dead, too. But love be damned! He had to save Merlin’s life. 

 

 

Gaius didn’t lie to Prince Arthur when he claimed no knowledge of another wristlet file. Nor did he lie when he said that Merlin lacked the power to make one. However, he did mislead the young prince and very convincingly, when asked how he had obtained the first piece of little magic metal. 

Without much objection, Gaius gave the enchanted file to Arthur. He knew the time had come for Merlin to meet a great dragon. Kilgharrah would restore his magic, Gaius was certain. He was also certain that Kilgharrah would do far more. To save himself, the great dragon would scare the carelessness out of the young warlock. Merlin finally would learn what his true destiny entailed. Kings and bandits didn’t compare to the evil magic, mystical creatures and powerful witches that he must face to keep Arthur safe. His magic was not a toy to be played with. Merlin would be wise to protect his precious gift with Arthur's life…

Arthur stood in the court physician’s quarters and demanded information. Like a true prince, he held his shoulders stiff and regal. Authority resonated in his tone as he gazed upon the old man. 

Gaius was impressed. The young prince had been taught well. He surmised it to be the work of Nimueh. She, too, knew of his destiny and that someday, Uther Pendragon would find his son. “Sire,” Gaius explained. “The file came from the old religion, which was very prevalent before the great purge. The high priestess of the old religion was once a cherished member of your father’s court.”

“I’ve heard the stories,” he said. "In sonnet and in song." 

“However,” Gaius continued. “She hasn’t been seen, again, since she appeared in the courtyard the day of your abduction. During one of the scores of pyre burning to avenge your mother’s death, Nimeuh announced to Uther and to the crowd her curse upon you.”

The fate of his mother was heartbreaking to hear but Arthur nodded for him to continue. 

“I must admit, sire,” he said. “In those dark days, I helped a few of my friends escape the great purge.” He implied that he used the same wristlet file, twenty years ago.

Arthur assumed that Gaius had used it, too. He nodded, again, acknowledging the old man’s long history of bravery. But difficult words to hear about his father as well, he turned to leave. Besides, he now had what he came to retrieve. He had the wristlet file. He was also confident that Merlin could not obtain another.

Before Arthur opened the door, Gaius called him. “Sire, I understand your difficult decision,” he sympathized. “I’ve often counseled Merlin, myself, but to no avail. Perhaps, when he matures a bit more, you’ll see fit to grant him his freedom, again.” 

Arthur glanced around at Gaius while squeezing the metal file. The old man’s request removed all doubts. In his hand, he possessed the only way to free Merlin's magic and Gaius was petitioning him to keep the file safe. Not throw it away. As Arthur opened the door, he nodded to Gaius that he would keep the metal file, just in case. 

The vaults offered the safest place. Arthur hid the file on a small dusty ledge behind a large cabinet. Inside the cabinet were numerous treasures including an old silver box filled with more wristlets. Before he left, he retrieved one of the frightening little trinkets. When he returned to his chambers, he felt relief that Merlin was not there. Arthur slid the wristlet underneath his mattress and then he started to pace, because Merlin was not there.

 

 

The training session was getting ugly. Bouts of hideously boisterous laughter erupted on the field and each boisterous bout grew louder than the last. The unnerving noises drifted into the castle. Uther hardened his countenance as he rose from his council table and went to a window and looked out. Shuffling behind him, his elders dared to followed and look out, too. Throughout the castle, windows filled with nobles and servants, all watching and listening to the insidious sounds coming from the training field. 

On the grass below, another noble knight joked. “These so-called knights are not fit to be our squires,” he said. Louder laughter erupted and Uther tried to identify the knight for punishment but he noticed that Arthur and his nominals were laughing loudest. They seemed to be laughing more so at themselves while they twisted, flexed and bent in efforts to adjust to their shiny new armor. They looked clumsy. 

Another knight born of nobility offered a more disparaging joke. “Bandits and thieves wouldn’t have this rift-raft,” he said. The laughter went higher. The nominals laughed loudest, making the nobles angrier.

However, Percival was showing signs of frustration. Still twisting and turning, the restrictive chain mail hampered his movement. In his frustration, he complained, “This stupid chainmail will get me killed in a real battle. I can’t move my arms.” 

“Calm down, Percival,” Lancelot said, but with laughter in their efforts to ward off the nobles’ insults. 

The next insult was directed at Percival. “The big coward,” the nobleman said. “Already, he seeks an excuse to avoid a battlefield.” Bellowing belly rolls from his fellow knights left another noble to shout, “They have no honor!” 

The last insult incensed Arthur. He knew that the knight was right. Whispering, sneaking and hiding, he had stepped on his honor and crushed it into the ground. In his anger, he gave his nominals a look that they seldom saw. A frightening look, it meant, show them no mercy. To Percival, he said, “Chain mail was not meant to hold those arms.”

Percival smiled at him. Given the ok, he raised his arms and flexed his muscles. The small iron rings started popping loose. He then tore off one sleeve. Then, the other. As he shred the metal from his arms like old rotten cloth, the boisterous bellies stopped rolling. Only silence, the noble knights watched Percival flex his huge arms, again. A smile of relief on Percival’s face to finally be unhindered, he nodded that he was ready to begin.

The best fighting men in the land approached Camelot’s finest. En guard! Twirling wrists and cunning footwork in a choreography that resembled a six-man tango, they glided, parried and reposted while steering the noble knights, one by one, toward Gwaine. In his trademark alley-oop, Gwaine sent the sword flying from each noble’s hand to land stuck upright in the ground, meters away. 

When prince Arthur and his nominals stopped dancing, a dozen swords stood in a tight cluster on one side of the field. The noble knights stood disarmed in a cluster, on the other side. In the middle, the nominals continued to twirled their wrists and brandish their swords. 

The training field grew eerily silent and for the longest moment. Uther and everyone watching from windows held their breaths. All feared that a real battle was ready to erupt. 

However, more laughter erupted, instead. Loud and honest laughter. A thing of beauty to behold, the noble knights could not help but to be tickled by their skills. Congratulatory words started spilling from their lips as they approached their new prince and his personal knights with extended hands. Numerous questions were spilling, as well. Show me how you did that move or this move, they eagerly asked. 

Pride softened Uther’s face. He turned from the window and in his proud and happy voice, he said, “gentlemen, we still have work to do.” 

 

 

 

Arthur waited and he waited. One moment, he stood gazing through foggy windows while listening to a hard rain spatter on the cobblestone. The next moment, he paced about his chambers. Edgy, again, nausea started to set in when the bells of night tolled ten. Merlin was missing. In his search, Arthur learned that he had gathered herbs before the rains and then had supper with Gaius but that was three bells ago. “Where is that idiot,” he often uttered. At any moment, he expected a knock on his door while anticipating the dreaded news. In his head, the messenger said, “Sire, the king demands your presence in judgment court. Your warlock has been caught using his magic.” 

When Arthur heard his door finally opening, he stopped pacing, deadly still. Left standing in the center of his floor, he stared blankly at Merlin. 

Merlin stared back. Odd, for Arthur to be standing in the center of his chambers while staring blankly at a door. Both continued to gaze oddly at each other as Merlin eased toward the table to rest his laundry basket. He had not been missing. He had been in the kitchens with Guinevere. She finally found the courage to befriend him and they talked forever while she helped him wash Arthur’s laundry. Magically dried when Gwen left to tend Morgana for the night, he brought the laundry back upstairs. 

Without expression or words, Arthur walked up to him. The moment Merlin put the basket down, Arthur grabbed him by his shoulders and started to raven his face and mouth. 

Against the onslaught, Merlin spoke in broken syllables. “Um, Arthur, what are you doing,” he asked. He didn’t mind the maul but the lunatic behavior compelled to find out why. 

Between his hard and pressing kisses, Arthur managed to answer. “I need to test just how deep this lunacy between us will go," he said. "If whether I’ll kill you, myself.” 

Merlin stood, speechless. After several moments of mauling, he spoke in sputters, again. “Arthur, I don’t think that we’re crazy,” he said, although he was having doubts about Arthur. “I think that we’re simply meant to be together.” 

Arthur mocked his reply. “If you were born to serve me,” he repeated Merlin’s vulnerability, throwing it back in his face. “Then how can you serve me, when dead,” he asked to get a rile out of him. 

Merlin tensed. The anger was there. It was quickly rising along with their heat, passion and desire… But not the fury. It was missing. 

“See,” Merlin smirked with a silly little grin. He relaxed and started a slow reciprocation to calm the facial maul. His gentle efforts eased Arthur into tender exchanges, too. However, Arthur was not done with his lunacy ploy. He turned his tender kisses into hesitation and doubt. He needed Merlin completely off guard. In his doubt, Arthur stepped back. With a knitted brow, he licked his lips, slowly circling his tongue as if searching to taste the difference in their kisses from the old barn. 

Merlin whimpered, moaning the loss. He felt tormented to watch Arthur lick the lips that he had just been kissing. His own brow wrinkled to understand his cruel tease.

Tormenting him more, Arthur moved close to him and slightly brushed their bodies together while he planted another tender kiss to his lips. Testing that kiss, too, he stepped back and tasted his lips with several more slow circles of his tongue. He then walked away. With a slight tilt of his head as if lost in deep thought, he settled at his desk, leaned back and contemplated the difference. Occasionally, he licked his lips to obtain more samples to examine…

Merlin was too tormented and confused to do more than whimper. Worry mixed with his emotions as he often glanced at Arthur. Each glance caused his feet to stumbled as he tried to resume his nightly manservant’s duties. After he put the clean laundry in the chest of drawers, Arthur approached him, again. In a lengthy kiss this time, he took more samples and started testing them, too. 

Merlin watch his eyes grow dark and sultry as he slowly licked his lips, again. He also watched the dark and sultry eyes give him no notice. Arthur returned to his desk and sat in ponder.

Maybe lunacy was at play, Merlin begin to wonder as the sexual tension started to literally ache in his bones. He was too tight, too aroused, too tantalized. He noticed that Arthur was totally aroused, too, by the tall tent pulling his trousers tight as he returned to his desk. He could barely wait for Arthur to reach his conclusion. 

Finally, Arthur said, “perhaps, I should retire.” Slowly stretching and yawning to reveal his tent and torment Merlin more, he rose from his desk.

Merlin stumbled again in his rush to turn back his covers. The tension in his body practically screamed to be released. When Arthur undressed, completely naked, Merlin lost all control. He tried to retrieve Arthur’s sleeping clothes and place them on the bed but he dropped the clothes on the floor and grabbed Arthur, instead. 

Outside, the skies added thunder and lightning to the spatter on the cobblestone. As the rains pounded, Arthur let himself be mauled. Merlin feasted on his body until he could feast no more. When he grew tired, Arthur turned the table and feasted on him.

Both exhausted, Merlin lay tired and sleeping while Arthur fought hard to stay awake. For a long while, he held and tenderly rubbed at Merlin’s hand in hopes to have forgiveness. Slowly, he reached underneath his mattress and brought forth the wristlet. With his thumb still gently stroking at Merlin's palm, Arthur slid the wristlet in place.

The sudden change in his magic woke Merlin. Something seemed to be drawing his magic from his body. Startled, he bolt upright in bed. In desperation, he searched for the source. A split second it took Merlin to look down at his wrist. Two gold bracelets now shimmered against the firelight embers. He struggled to remove both but only one would come off.

Arthur lay calm and silent while watching his desperation. Merlin stared down into his shadowy face but he didn’t need to ask why. With eyes that seemed to die along with love and honor, he felt horribly betrayed. The night had been a ploy. The same love that he argued for, Arthur used against him. In the quiet night, the storm had moved on and all that remained was an eerie division between them. Arthur had expected it to happen but he saw no other choice. 

Merlin now knew it, as well. Arthur had made the ultimate sacrifice to save his life. A greater love for him, Merlin could not imagine. But Arthur had made the wrong choice. Life over love. Arthur had relegated their love to second. They would remain close. Destiny would ensure that they did. But he knew that it would never be the same, again. Arthur would probably seek love elsewhere and Merlin knew that he would not be able to deny him that. Not once he secretly obtained his magic, again. The division between them would be too wide. Love relegated to second coupled with secrets and lies would be too far to bridge. He turned from Arthur, reclined and waited for a new dawn.

The hesitation in their relationship had already begun. With an unsure motion of his hand, Arthur reached out and rubbed his back. “Merlin, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t watch you die,” he said, in an effort to explain. 

“I understand," he uttered. "You did what you thought you needed to do.” After a moment, he said, “Prat.”

“No, Merlin. You don’t understand,” he replied. “You’re taking this much too calmly. I assume, you think that the wristlet file will free your magic, again. It wont. I ordered Gaius to give the file to me. You will never find it. For all intent and purpose, I’ve thrown it away.”

Arthur felt Merlin's body jerk. 

With nothing left to say or feel, Merlin rose from bed and got dressed. Everything was gone. Love, honor, destiny. He could not bear to look at Arthur as he eased from his chambers. Tears in his eyes, he felt grateful that Gaius slept when he eased into his own little room. Desolation slumped every part of his body as he fell into bed and stared up at the ceiling. Perhaps, he would go home, now. Stay home, after all…

“Merrrlin.”

The strange voice seemed to be coming from inside his own brain.

“Merrrlin,” the dragon called.


End file.
